The Lion King: The Unshining Star
by TLKFan
Summary: Scar knows that to achieve peace between the lions and the hyenas, certain sacrifices have to be made. But when the time comes, can he really bring himself to kill his own nephew? A different take on the Lion King universe, and what might have happened if things were a little bit different. Rated T, a joint work of TLKFan and Kovukono.
1. Chapter 1

The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part One: Chapter One

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(TLKFan here. This fanfiction will be a joint effort between myself and Kovukono, who has been one of my greatest supporters for some years now. I can honestly say that I never had any intentions of returning to The Lion King's universe, but when I watched the film again with a young friend of mine, I was inspired, and this story is the result.

Kovukono: Hi everyone. TLKFan approached me a while back with an idea for a story and we decided to co-write it. While I can't promise any updates to any of my other stories, we are at least going to be updating this consistently from start until finish. I hope you enjoy it.)

* * *

It took no more than a moment for the departing majordomo to vanish into the endless sunlit plains. There, somewhere, the proud Lion King patrolled his lands. Perhaps today he'd hear from his supplicants, or plan a hunt, or simply relax in the shade with the lionesses before his wife came back from her reconnaissance mission.

But what was there to patrol? It was spring and the movement of the herds was like clockwork. They'd begin at that little creek to the far south, where a huddle of wizened trees hunched over an oasis like old men over a chessboard. Then, in a few weeks, they'd migrate to the lush forested area to the east. After all the food there was depleted, they'd eat their way west, over the endless soft grasslands, until it was late in the fall. Then they'd scatter to the fringes of the Pride Lands and beyond until the end of winter.

"Perhaps there's been another incursion into our lands," Scar said out loud. "No doubt the fault of the hyenas. Nevermind that they don't have the forces to defend their own lands, oh no, they're doubtlessly scheming to attack us even now."

The very idea was laughable. The meager, anarchic legions of hyenas, face off against lions? Mufasa alone was worth a dozen of them, far more than that in open battle. Scar himself was worth nearly as many, and each lioness could take on more than her share of the enemy that wasn't yet an enemy. The only way hyenas could kill a lion was via ambush, and the only way that would work was if it was a dozen hyenas to one lion. Then they had a prayer of destroying their target before reinforcements swooped in and routed the lot of them.

And Mufasa, in all of his military genius, had sent his wife out to a distant quadrant of the country. All alone, all by herself. Of course he had. Scar only had to touch the gash on his face and remember his namesake to understand why Mufasa had sent Sarabi out there, a dozen miles away from anyone.

Still, he was almost worried. Almost. But Sarabi was a great huntress and almost as great of a warrior. A pack of mangy hyenas couldn't sneak up on her if she was asleep, and Scar had seen her when she was paying attention. No blade of grass shifted without her notice.

But provoking the hyenas, tempting them by sending a feared lieutenant right up to the very edge of their territory, that wasn't enough for Mufasa, oh no. Last night there had been a meeting to which Scar was only invited because he was Mufasa's brother, and the fool-the bloody jingoist had actually floated the idea of staging troops in the hyenas' land. To keep an eye on them, he said. To make sure that they're behaving themselves, he said.

And, Scar had said, how would the hyenas react when the troops were invariably detected? It might take them some time-weeks, maybe-months, even-but eventually, someone would forget to wipe a pawprint, or to stand upwind, or something. Their ire evoked, all the hyenas would rally and eradicate the slight against their pride. Blood to wash the stain away, they'd say, and they'd consider the debt paid.

And then what, he'd asked. Decent lions would be killed, for what? For more accurate reports of how the hyenas were still mired in civil war? How they were still barely scratching life from the rocks and bones of their country? How a few of their fractured armies dreamed of invading the Pride Lands, but hadn't the strength to do so, and knew they didn't have the strength to do so?

His brother had silenced him with a blow that left stars dancing in Scar's vision. It's our right to enter hyena territory as we please; we are lions. And if they harm troops that the Lion King has ordered there, then, in Heaven's name, I will massacre them down to the last child.

Far too much applause had rung out in the den when Mufasa had said that. Roared it, really, so that they could all hear. Some were sycophants, trying to improve themselves in the eyes of their leader. Others were just scared of appearing to question him. But there was a sizable bloc in the pride who-like Mufasa-seemed to dream of a full scale war with the hyenas.

At least then they'd stop their endless civil warring, Scar thought. Predictable. The appearance of a greater, shared threat stops internal squabbling. The absurdity was that Mufasa knew this, or ought to know this, or else the endless hours they'd each spent at their father's feet learning about military theory were all for naught.

It almost saddened Scar that his brother was a madman. Almost. But he'd lived with the reality that the heir to the throne of the Lion King was insane from when he was a child. He'd never gotten along with his brother, ever, and it was only because of tradition that the throne had gone to him when their revered father had died. Ahadi had practically said as much, in one of his last days.

"Protect your brother, Scar," he'd said. "Help me. If you can… advise him. And if it comes to it, if you absolutely have to do it… delay him. Distract him from his obsession with the hyenas. If you don't… our pride will suffer."

Ahadi hadn't known how right he was.

The truth was that this was the golden age, or else, it ought to be. Never had there been such perfect weather for so long, so long that storms themselves were becoming legendary. Never had the herds been so predictable, and reliable, and strong. This ought to be a time of peace and prosperity, of exploration and discovery, and Mufasa was squandering it by balancing on the razor's edge between uneasy peace and all out warfare.

Perhaps madness wasn't the extent of the afflictions he had.

And now-Scar shivered-he had a son. He'd seen little of his nephew so far, but though the lad seemed to be a happy pleasant sort of child, he was his father's son. And he would become his father's heir ideologically sooner or later. Already Scar had heard him make his father laugh by playing with a butterfly and then loudly wishing that it was a hyena's head.

But that didn't make what had to be done any easier to do. No matter that it was for the greater good… it wouldn't be easy to do.

It was at that moment that he heard the sound the pride had grown to abhor in the early morning. Tap-tap-tap-tap, too light to be a lion's, but too loud to be a hunter's. He began to steel himself, but Simba was upon him before he could.

"Hey, Uncle Scar!"

He looked over at the cub. His nephew. And Simba looked back at him with trusting, endearing wide eyes. That perfect age-so happy to learn, to accept. So malleable. Scar sometimes felt a pang of regret that he didn't have any that he could call his own.

"Ah. My favorite nephew," he observed. His voice was all culture and class, frustration buried deep below it. The last time he'd heard "Hey, Uncle Scar," Simba had been covered in elephant dung. The time before that was him showing a bunch of crickets he'd killed. Nothing good ever followed those words. But this time Simba seemed unsoiled. Just excited.

"More like your only nephew," Simba grinned at him. "My dad just showed me the kingdom! It's so big! And it's so great!"

"Indeed," muttered Scar. Hopefully a noncommittal response would put the boy off and he'd go and bother someone else.

"And Dad said I'm going to rule it all!"

"All of it?" asked Scar, mock incredulity in his voice.

"Yeah! Everything the light touches!"

"That's quite a bit of responsibility," Scar rasped.

Responsibility that was going unheeded and unchecked. He remembered his father's open-den policy, no matter was too small for the king's personal attention. Ahadi had been a man of the people, something that Scar had admired. He'd been the one who had gone with his father on the long, tiring walks to inspect everything that had needed inspecting. Mufasa, on the other hand had stopped once he had started getting his mane-and started noticing that girls weren't terrible. The open den policy was maintained, but Mufasa was inapproachable. If he wasn't flexing his muscles at himself, the lionesses were fawning over him, making comments that no Lion King should ever tolerate.

Scar could never have claimed to have good genetics or be particularly strong, but the exercise and tutelage had helped toughen him. Mufasa, on the other hand, seemed to pack it on from simply laying around. Perhaps, in another life, the roles would have been reversed, but Scar didn't have the luxury of dreaming of it. He had the problem here and now. The thick-headed lunk with the ego and testosterone in place of a dim bulb in his head, the one who was not only intent on starting a war, but hellbent on it.

And here was the son of the brute in front of him, happy and wide-eyed, innocent and charming. It reminded him of a younger Mufasa, one who had played lions and hyenas with no true malice behind it. But it was only a matter of time. Without action-radical action-Simba would soon become his father's son.

"If Dad can rule, so can I!" Simba boasted, his chest puffing forward. Scar's lips curled in a smile, half from the ridiculousness of it, and half out of the thought of how little he would miss the prancing about.

"Oh? And what does Daddy do?" asked Scar. "Does he fight hyenas?"

"Yeah! Those nasty, smelly things!" said Simba, bearing his teeth.

"And does he hunt for dinner?"

Simba paused. "Uh...sometimes, I guess." Yes, when his father had the urge to kill and hadn't gotten a decent whiff of hyena in the territory. "The lionesses do it, mostly."

"What about answering the questions of the animals? Listening to their problems?"

Simba snorted. "That's Zazu's job," he dismissed.

Of course it was. Actually dealing with problems, that was Zazu's job, being a pretty figurehead with a mane and a tongue for war, that was the King's job. There was nothing in the child's head but what his father had filled it with. And who could blame him? Mufasa was King. He was strong, intimidating, brash, outspoken, everything that a weak mind would admire. A show of blunt, brutal force, the very thing that empty heads gravitated toward for spectacle or power.

The Hell of it was that there was no unseating him. Scar held no fantasies: if he challenged his brother for the throne, he would lose, and if he didn't die, he'd be exiled, and who would care for the pride then? And rebellion was also out of the question in a pride where looks and bold talk meant more than wisdom and the willingness to listen. Scar was not unmuscled, but next to his brother he was scrawny. That and his dark fur meant that no matter how properly he spoke or how tall he stood, he didn't have the bearing or the demeanor needed to win anyone over to his side.

The boy was the key to it all. Mufasa prized few things in life. He prized his power most of all, but his heir was a close second. He lamented over and over how he had no trueborn child, no one to carry on his name, his line, his beautiful face. Mufasa had scoffed at the thought of anyone remembering his brother in comparison to him-but it had planted the seed in his mind. The idea of what would come after. It was good to be strong now. It was good to be powerful. But people knew him as Mufasa, son of Ahadi. He hated that title, hated it with a passion. He would be Mufasa, King of the Pridelands-and his son, he would bear his name. Simba, son of Mufasa. Mufasa the Great, the Powerful. Mufasa, Crusher-no, Destroyer of the Hyenas. Simba would ensure that his memory remained, telling stories of his father.

Mufasa was strong, powerful, deadly, brutal. But Simba was his weak spot. And only Scar knew it.

"Zazu's job to talk to the subjects, is it?" Scar said. The very idea made him shiver, so he turned away and looked into the distance. "Humor me, Simba. Why is it Zazu's job?"

"Because Dad said so," Simba said simply. "Besides, he's too busy with the hyenas."

"But Simba, have you even seen a hyena?" asked Scar.

"Have you?" the boy countered.

To be honest, Scar hadn't expected the question. It had been so long since he had actually seen one. It had been with his father, the two of them stalking the animal through the tall grass. It hadn't even been a task-they simply needed to follow the trail of blood that was smeared along the ground. It was doubtful that even if they had turned around and gone home, it would have lived. But they found it. Scar saw the viciousness in the beast's eyes, the danger it posed even mortally wounded. But it was alone, something that Scar hadn't ever quite puzzled through. It had proved no challenge. Ahadi stepped to it, closed his jaws, and the hyena was gone forever. Not an execution-a mercy killing.

He didn't say as much to Simba, though. "Oh but I have," Scar said. "A good few of them, just a day or two ago… and they were alone, right on the very edge of our territory."

"Where?" asked the boy. "You better tell Dad! Then he can go and kill them all!"

"I don't think it's worth the King's attention," said Scar, turning away. "Not even the Majordomo's. I'd have gone after them myself, but I had… other predilections."

The trap was laid. A handful of enemy forces, isolated near the Pride Lands. Not worth the attention of the King, but any young warrior who took them out would prove his bravery to everyone. Simba would tell himself that he could handle it, and, in seconds, be captured or wounded. And then Zazu, who was patrolling the skies nearby, would swoop down for a closer look.

From there it would go like clockwork. He'd rush to the King, and the King would react by charging in head first. Scar would join him on the way, and walk Simba to safety while Mufasa did the fighting. And then-shockingly-a previously unnoticed swarm of hyenas would come forth and smother the Lion King until the life was snuffed out of him.

Blood for honor. The hyenas would consider themselves square with the lions, and the King-regent would do the same. Scar would take the throne until Simba came of age, and by that time, he'd know how to rule. He would know how to rule, or else… Scar shook his head. He had years to work on Simba. He wouldn't fail.

But the plan wasn't without risk. Scar himself could be hurt, even killed if he didn't act quickly enough. As for Simba… Simba…

Now that it came down to it, Scar couldn't deny it anymore, not even to himself. It would be a miracle if Simba wasn't killed. In fact, it would be a miracle if Simba wasn't killed before he and Mufasa even got there. The boy might be able to resist for a few moments, he might even be able to run and hide for a bit, but the hyenas would hunt him down and drag him out of whatever hole he shivered in. And then, it would be curtains for him.

A child. An innocent little boy. Scar's favorite nephew. Scar's only nephew.

It was then that Scar became aware of an insistent tapping at his legs. Simba, it seemed, had taken to prodding at his uncle, addressing him repeatedly. Perhaps it had initially been to ask him where the hyenas were, but now it was a game. And now Simba was on his back, striking at his uncle with sheathed claws. Playing with his uncle.

Scar looked around, discomforted by the idea of someone watching them, but in seconds Simba had him playfighting back. Never too roughly, but none too gently either, always for fun, always with good humor.

When they finished, Scar was in a heap and Simba was splayed on top of him as if in victory. He tugged at the dark lion's year, never too roughly, but none too gently either, and Scar concealed a stray tear with laughter. He would never roughhouse with Simba again after that day. No one would ever roughhouse with Simba again after that day.

"Hey Uncle Scar," Simba said, a long time later. "We're pals, right?"

Scar grinned, biting back sadness. "Right."

"So then… just tell me where you saw the hyenas, okay? It's really important for us to deal with them, so that we can protect the pride, the family. Mom, Dad, Sarafina, and Nala, and Zira… everyone. Even you and me. Because that's what being the King is about, right?" he said. "It's about protecting everyone."

The child. The innocent precious child. All he wanted to do was to protect everyone; he couldn't help that he was being brainwashed into thinking that killing hyenas was the same as protecting everyone. And that was why what had to be done would be done. Simba was just… just collateral damage. An unavoidable sacrifice.

"It was just a joke," Scar heard himself say. Then, consciously, he smiled at his nephew. "A joke in bad taste, I admit it, but a joke nonetheless. Now come here, you."

And then he pounced on his squealing nephew and played with him until they were both exhausted. And to himself he swore then and there that no matter what happened, no matter what had to happen to Mufasa, nothing and no one would ever harm a hair on Simba's head.


	2. Chapter 2

The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part One: Chapter Two

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(TLKFan and Kovukono here again. And we now bring you Chapter Two.)

* * *

"Territory is everything," he said.

He wasn't speaking just to his boy, but the cheetah as well.

"It's what sets us apart from the base, wandering rogues. What gives us structure." His eyes darkened. "And I will not tolerate any challenge to it."

The cheetah was carefully weighing his next words, Simba could see that much. The Lion King wasn't quick to anger, he was quick to action. Doing something was always better than doing nothing, whether it be in a fight or in politics. And Mufasa always acted. No opportunities were lost on him. So the cheetah's next words, his excuse of why he considered an expansion of his own territory to be harmless, despite the outlines the crown had put out a year ago, weren't going to dictate whether Mufasa reacted or not. All it determined was how heavy a paw landed on the cheetah's head.

"My liege, the leopards were very much fine with this," he said. "They understood that we needed more room, more hunting space-we've just had so many more cubs. We-we assumed that you would agree since-since all parties were… were happy with the… arrangements…" The cheetah's voice petered out to a mutter as he looked away from Mufasa's scowl.

There was a very, very uncomfortable silence.

"Whose kingdom is this?" Mufasa boomed. It was the only sound in the savannah-even the wind had gone still.

"Yours, my liege," said the cheetah quickly, his eyes fixed firmly on the king's paws.

"And whose laws rule this kingdom?"

"Yours, my liege."

"And whose laws were you acting on?" The cheetah's mouth opened-and nothing came out. "Not mine."

"We-we can discuss this-"

A loud thwack made birds in distant trees take to the skies as the Lion King slammed the cheetah to the ground.

"We have nothing to discuss," he said. "You are going to return your people back to their territory. Their proper territory. And there you will stay."

"Yes, my liege!"

"And to pay for your crimes… you will be bringing the pride one fresh carcass. Per day. For a month."

"But-but sir, we have so many mouths to feed, and you're reducing-" The voice choked off as the King's paw pressed firmly on his trachea. The cheetah's paws scratched at the ground in panic.

"I am reducing nothing. I am reminding you of your place in my kingdom. My word is law-not yours. Be thankful that this is only for a month." He removed his paw and the cheetah gasped. "Learn to live within your means, Loya. This will be your only warning."

He turned to walk away, and his son followed after him, only taking a minute to glance back at the cheetah gasping for air. Simba could see anger in his eyes, frustration-but he would do nothing. Mufasa was king for a reason-no one dared try to act against him.

* * *

"Well, you… handled that," said Scar, speaking up for the first time.

Simba was surprised he'd even shown up. He hadn't wanted to come until he realized Simba was coming along. As a prince, technically Mufasa couldn't deny him-a fact that Scar had spent a solid two minutes explaining in scathing detail. Simba didn't know why, but he certainly did seem to enjoy annoying his brother.

"Of course I did," said Mufasa. "I'm the king."

"Perhaps you could consider restraint as one of your kingly properties."

"I did restrain myself," Mufasa said. "A more emotional lion might have killed the upstart. My punishment was firm, I admit it, but fair."

"Indeed," Scar leered. "By the way, my liege, I was thinking about having some zebra for lunch. Do I have your approval?"

"Watch your tone, brother," growled Mufasa, baring his teeth.

Scar sighed. "Mufasa, each day a dozen new problems spring up. In the end, you only address half of them, at best. These subjects managed to solve their own problem-and you chased them away because they didn't ask you first. Why not trust those who prove themselves able of governing themselves? Why must we micromanage everything?"

And then, literally falling from the sky, was the single most annoying voice of his childhood.

"While there are things the king must delegate, it is very important that he speak to his subjects!" Zazu preached. "The feeling of the monarch being a reachable, approachable figure is highly-"

"I'm sure Loya finds him very approachable after today," said Scar. "I would remind you that both the cheetahs and leopards make up a large part of the kingdom's border-and today we managed to antagonize both."

Simba already knew how this would go. Two animals who both loved the sound of their own voices in an argument, both sorely convinced they were in the right. It would probably end when one of them died-and resume once the other met them on the other side.

"It is their place to protect the border. We all have our places-and the king can't be expected to put his life in danger."

"Well, since his life is worth so much, how many leopards and cheetahs should happily have theirs in contention? They are subjects that not only protect us, but now can't even handle their own internal matters because of pride!"

He saw his father's mouth twitch. It seemed to have been doing that a lot lately around Scar. A quick jerk into a frown-and then gone a moment later. Scar might have noticed it, but he never would have noticed the second tic-a short unsheathing of the claws on his front paws to scratch at the dirt before moving back in. But you noticed things like that when you were only a foot off the ground.

"Pride?" Mufasa said. "I call it realism. I am the Lion King, and they are my subjects. They live, and die, based on my will for them to live and die."

"Precisely!" Zazu squaked. "The lives of the subjects-even me, even you, even Simba himself-are valued based on their utility to the standing monarch!"

"In that case, perhaps your greatest value to the standing monarch is as hornbill tartare."

"I will not discuss this matter further," Mufasa said, his voice cutting through the noise. "So consider the conversation closed. Is that clear?"

"I can only imagine what Father would have said," muttered the uncle.

Mufasa whirled around and Simba saw his paw rise, aiming for Scar's face with a roar that made the cub shake. There was a solid thud as it met Scar's upright foreleg, the paw stopping an inch from his face.

"Why, you almost gave me another scar. Mufasa, we're family," said Scar, his tone a mix between soothing and gloating. "Would you really strike your own brother?" Simba saw his father's eyes narrow as his teeth bared. "...In front of your son?"

"Yes," the Lion King growled. "A firm but fair punishment. Simba, come with me," he said. "Scar-you're fetching dinner."

Simba quickly moved after his father, not entirely happy about the company that he would be keeping after Scar had riled him up.

"What am I, a lioness?" asked Scar haughtily.

The Lion King stopped and his son nearly ran smack into his leg. He looked Scar dead in the eye.

"Brother, you are whatever I want you to be," he said.

And then he turned and walked off, his son loping to keep up with him.

* * *

Simba walked with Mufasa in silence. He knew his father better than anyone-at least, he thought he did. And he was beyond angry, he was furious.

After a few moments, Simba finally got up the courage to ask, "Dad, are...are you mad at me?"

The Lion King stopped for a moment, then sighed, lowering his head. "No, son. I'm not mad at you."

"You promise?"

"Yes, I promise." He rubbed the prince's head and kept walking. "Did you enjoy today? What did you learn?"

"A lot, but Dad, I don't understand. Last month, when the parrots and the parakeets said they wanted to trade their territories, you let them. You barely even cared about the deals they were making."

"I didn't much care about the deal itself," Mufasa said. "I cared that they came for my blessing. That's what's important, Simba. That's what being a leader is. Being in charge and letting people know about it, so that there's never a question about who has what authority or how much. A true leader, a good leader, has all of the authority. The cheetahs might not have known that earlier, but they will now. And they'll never forget it."

It's all about the image. That was the saying that had been drilled into Simba's head, and it had merit. A leader who wasn't respected was no leader at all. And spreading authority too thin, letting decisions be made in a decentralized fashion, that was a fast track to anarchy.

But still. The cheetahs had had a lot of cubs recently, and the problem they'd solved, they'd solved without bothering anyone else or hurting them. They might have gotten a bit ahead of themselves by going around Mufasa, but… but that was no reason to fine them so heavily.

"You don't seem convinced," Mufasa noted.

Such a simple phrase. But it told Simba that he was walking on a razor's edge. If he lied, his father would know. If he told the truth-that he didn't understand why a good leader ought to punish the cheetahs so harshly-then he'd be insubordinate. He was precisely one wrong word from a scolding, or worse, and he knew it. And so he chose his words carefully.

"I just don't understand, Dad," he said. "It must make sense to you because you've been King for years, but I-I just don't get it." His father was staring at him with anything but friendliness on his face, but Simba couldn't let himself stammer. That, too, would earn him a scolding.

"It's just… the cheetahs did take your authority away, by making a deal without asking you. And they definitely should have been punished. But isn't it better... to rule from a position of love, not fear?" Simba said. "The cheetahs will fear you now, just like our enemies should, but the cheetahs aren't our enemies. I don't know, Dad, would it have been wrong to be merciful to them? Just this once?"

Mufasa seemed to roll the idea over in his mind several times before responding. "Perhaps," he finally admitted. "But that's a risk, Simba. It's easy for those who never have to be leaders to criticize and call for mercy, but I am the leader, and I know that the slightest slip, the slightest show of anything but absolute strength… that can be a fast track to the end of days. Do you understand?"

That was a loaded question, and Simba knew better than to try his luck again. He responded in the affirmative and fell in step behind his father with his head held high and his posture beyond reproach. Mufasa was right about one thing-it was important for a leader to have an image.

* * *

Contrast that with the gargoyle leering over the Pride Lands from his post on Pride Rock. That lithe build, that tousled unkempt hair, that hunched back… Scar could take a lesson or two from Mufasa. On image, Simba thought, and just about nothing else.

He was brooding, as he frequently did. Simba could tell that just by looking at those unblinking green eyes. A thousand things were on his mind: the situation with the hyenas, the forthcoming dry season, maybe even the leopards and the cheetahs. Who knew? Zazu didn't officially report to anyone but Mufasa, but Scar was officially some sort of advisor to his brother. Even if the feathered majordomo was as pompous and official as he put himself out there as, he had to acknowledge that.

Perhaps it had already happened. Or perhaps Simba would be the first to report to Scar. Either way, when he was facing his uncle's back like that, and when the sun was behind him… there was no choice. It was time to practice pouncing.

Low to the ground. Feel the earth beneath your claws. Get into position-wait, just calm down and wait for it… and then… pounce!

Simba charged forward and jumped. At the last moment, his uncle ducked, and he might have careened off Pride Rock into open air if the lion hadn't caught him by the scruff of the neck and set him down on his rear end.

And then Scar looked down at his nephew. Sternly, with a straight back and a wisdom beyond his age on his face. With the sun behind him, he looked positively stately. Maybe Mufasa was the one that could use an image lesson after all.

"Simba, Simba, Simba," Scar chided. "People are watching. You're the future king-you can't play around when your future subjects are watching."

"I wasn't playing," Simba said. "I was pouncing."

"And making a game out of it, surely," Scar said. "Unless you mean to tell me that that half-witted leap was a serious attempt at pouncing?"

He held that stern gaze on his expression for no more than a moment before a smile split his features.

"So. Your father showed you the whole kingdom, did he?"

"More or less," Simba said. "All of the important areas, anyway. We didn't go to the watering hole because it's shared territory, or the stream that cuts through the grasslands, because there's nothing to see there. But other than that… yes, Uncle Scar, we saw the whole kingdom."

Scar shut his eyes. His lips twitched before he spoke again.

"It's your father's opinion that the watering hole is unimportant, is it?" he said. "Well, Simba, what's your opinion on the importance of the watering hole?"

He couldn't be asking that question if he agreed with Mufasa's opinion, Simba thought. That meant that, in Scar's opinion, the watering hole was important. But why?

"Well," the cub said slowly, "it is shared territory…"

"So are the grasslands," Scar pointed out. "And that's where the cheetahs, the lions, and the leopards do a good deal of their hunting when the herds are on the move. Tell me, Simba, what would life be like in the Pride Lands, if something were to happen to the grasslands?" He paused, for effect, before continuing. "Answer that question, Simba, then ask yourself what life in the Pride Lands would be like if the watering hole were to, say, dry up."

"But that would be a disaster!" Simba exclaimed.

"Precisely," Scar said. "So tell me Simba-is the watering hole important, or isn't it?"

"It's very important," Simba said. "For everyone, not just the lions. That's where everyone goes when they can't get water anywhere else. And it's where there's a truce, even between predator and prey animals."

Scar just nodded.

"I agree with your father insofar that territory, and property, are what separate us from wandering nomads. It's these understandings and agreements that make our lives better than the solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short lives our ancestors lived. But Simba, territory isn't just about who controls the best hunting grounds for the biggest wildebeest, or the scenic overlooks, or what have you.

"It's about strategy, in a nutshell," Scar said. "When you consider what territory is important and what isn't, consider who needs it and how badly they need it. Here's an example," he said. "How valuable is the creek in the far south of our land, where the flamingos gather to mate every year? How valuable is that, compared to the pass between the gorge and the grasslands? Think out loud," he said.

"Well…" Simba began, "the pass is… ugly, and hot, and most of the time, nothing happens there. But when the herds move from the gorge to the grassland, it's a bottleneck," he said. "Dad said that last year, when we had a shortage of food, he had a party of lionesses attack the herds at that bottleneck. He was there… and they brought down enough wildebeest to survive the season."

Scar nodded. "Very good," he said. "And the creek?"

"Dad took me there last week," he said. "It's beautiful. It's quiet, and peaceful, and you can see the fish at the bottom, the waters are so clear. But… it's not that useful," Simba admitted. "You can fish there, I guess, and the water is fine for drinking… but there's not much of it. Not enough for a pride, anyway. Plus, it's so far away from Pride Rock… it's a nice place to visit, sure, but not exactly strategically important."

"Isn't it?" Scar said. And Simba knew from the knowing smirk on his face that he was missing something.

"Well, not to us, anyway," he said, and that was as far as he got.

"Not to us, no, it doesn't," Scar said. "But what about the flamingos, who have gathered there at the same time each year to mate, since time immemorial?"

"I… I guess that makes it important to them," Simba said. "But they could move-"

"And we could move from Pride Rock," Scar said, "but not even the most radical lion would consider that a viable option. Not even me." He smiled, and drew Simba up close to him so that, together, they could look over the Pride Lands.

"One day you will be the Lion King," Scar said. "But the name can be misleading. You will be king, but not just of the lions. Everyone in our land-every species-will look to you for leadership and guidance. And protection. And a king is not a king if he won't defend the hallowed homestead of one of his subjects, no matter how unimportant it is to his race. Because, Simba, when you take the throne, the lions won't be your people. Not them alone, anyway. Everyone will be your people. Everyone. Do you understand?"

Simba's chest felt like it was swelling. At the same time, he felt as if crushed by the weight of his burden. The Lion King… not just the king of lions, but the king of everyone. At least, almost everyone.

"I won't be king of the hyenas," Simba said. "They don't recognize the Lion King. They don't even live in the Pride Lands."

And Scar turned away, toward the distant shadowed regions beyond the borders of their land.

"You're right," he said. "The hyenas don't live in the Pride Lands. But Simba, does that really mean they're not people? Because they don't live in your nation? Tell me, would a good Lion King utterly disregard the hyenas, and their concerns, merely because they were born on the wrong side of an artificial border?"

He could see the gears in the boy's head starting to turn faster. And faster. Too fast. This was too much too soon.

"Something to think about for next time," Scar said delicately. "Consider it an academic exercise, no more. Now, Simba, run along and play. You're a cub, prince or not, and you must have a cubhood."

At that moment, Simba might have ceded the throne itself to press the point. The line of thought his uncle had sent him down-it went against everything he had ever been taught, and every instinct he had as well. But that didn't mean that the idea was without merit. Or even wrong.

Still, he knew from a single glance at his uncle's face that he wouldn't get another word on the topic from him. Even now the smirk on the dark lion's face was halfway between condescension and good humor.

And so Simba headbutted his shin, half as a joke, half out of annoyance, and left him to his own thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part One: Chapter Three

* * *

(A slight change of pace, a slight change of characters… welcome to chapter three.)

* * *

"Mother! _Mother!_ Do you _have_ to bathe me again today?"

"Yes, dear."

"But I just took a bath last week!"

The lioness scoffed. Then she carried on licking her child.

"As well you should," she said. "Perfect mind, perfect heritage… but you won't have the world handed to you on a silver platter, my daughter. You deserve nothing but what you earn, and you must earn everything for yourself. With each hunt, with each breath you take, _earn_ every ounce of respect you are given."

Nala agreed that there was value in being clean, and that a girl of her birth ought to have a certain image… but this was a little too much. Her fur was so polished it practically shone, and besides, there was no one there, enjoying the shade under the juniper tree, except for her and her mother.

"Ah. Sarafina. I thought I'd find you here."

That voice-Nala was out of her mother's grasp and on her feet in a heartbeat. When Sarabi drew closer, she bowed. And behind her, her mother did the same, though she didn't trouble herself to get to her feet.

"And here I am," she said. "Do you need something?"

"I was looking for Simba."

"I haven't seen him. As you can see," she said, snatching Nala just before she managed to escape, "I've got my paws a bit full right now."

"Mother-Mom, I'm clean-"

"You're clean when I say you're clean," said Sarafina in her mothering, no-nonsense voice. She started to groom her daughter again, eyes shut until she realized that Sarabi was still there, staring at them.

Then, finally, Sarafina stopped, looking up at the Queen of the Lions. "Well, Sarabi? How can I help you?"

"If you don't know where Simba is, do you at least know where my husband is?" she asked smiling sweetly.

"The king? Oh, he's out with the cheetahs. Settling some territory dispute. He should be back with us any minute now."

"Do you think Simba might have gone with him?"

Sarafina let Nala go. "You know what? He might have," she said, turning look at the queen fully. "Maybe. Tell me, do you lose your son often?"

Sarabi's face darkened.

"I'm _joking_ , Sarabi," Sarafina said, laughing pleasantly.

Sarabi half growled. Nala didn't know what the queen had to say-but it wasn't being said.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'm a bit busy with cleaning my daughter. Having some _alone_ time," Sarafina said pointedly.

Sarabi snorted and left the two alone, the smile fading from Sarafina's face as she went.

"Mother, why's the queen unhappy?" asked Nala.

"Who knows?" scoffed Sarafina. "Some people just don't get along with others, I suppose. Now roll over so I can do your tummy."

Nala made to comply, but something caught her eye. Something in the grass, not five yards away. What was it? It twitched, and it turned, and then she understood what was going on.

She counted to three, mentally, and then leaned back, controlling her back, her legs, and the result was that Simba's pounce was reversed and she ended up on top of him, holding him to the ground.

That move her mother had taught her. But the sweet soft lick she favored the Prince's cheek with was a creation of all her own. It was only after the gesture of affection that she let him up and bowed her head.

"Our Prince graces us with his presence. How are you, my liege?" she said. She stared at his feet throughout this statement until the end, when she made eye contact with him. That way, he'd see her smiling.

"Nala, stop talking to me like that, you know I don't like it!" he said. When Nala laughed, he clouted her on the shoulder, friendly-like, and in a moment the two cubs were play-fighting each other again.

Nala was the clear superior, but the workout regimen Mufasa had his son on saw Simba losing by less than he tended to. And the whole while, Sarafina sat watching and grooming her paws.

At last the affianced children finished their play. For sportsmanship's sake, Nala allowed Simba the final victory; he ended up pinning her down and nipping at her throat in a way that, already, was intimidating. He was just a boy without a mane-what would happen when he was a fully grown lion, with the muscle and the voice of his father? How many hyenas, Nala thought, would be in precisely the position that she was? The view that she enjoyed… this would be the last thing that so many of them would ever see.

Finally he let her up. They spent a moment nuzzling until Sarafina laughed, softly, and stood up.

"I have patrol duties, so I'll give you two some privacy. But remember, don't go far. Right, Nala?" she said.

The young lioness met her mother's eyes. She nodded once and then Sarafina left without another word, leaving the cubs alone.

And for some reason, that made Simba nervous. To be with that precocious young girl, without the supervision of an adult? And already she was licking her lips and drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer to him still.

Then she laughed and rubbed her head against his. She pranced off, laughing the whole while, and Simba found himself following her. No matter where she went, he'd follow.

* * *

The sun had nearly peaked in the sky by the time they reached the waterhole, an outlying oasis some distance from other major landmarks. Technically, it wasn't exactly close to where Pride Members tended to frequent, but it was deep in lion territory and everyone knew who Nala and Simba were. As such, the often crowded oasis became remarkably empty as they approached it.

Simba was dusty and a bit tired by then. He trained for strength and bursts of energy, rather stalking for hours in the hot sun, as they'd been doing that morning. Nala was still as fresh and clean as she had been when her mother finished with her. As such, she deferred to him and allowed him to touch his lips to the water first. At least, until…

"Wait," Nala said. "Simba, have you ever heard of the Run from Hell?"

"The Run from Hell?" Simba repeated. "No, what's that?"

"It's just something lions used to do in the pride to prove their bravery," she said. "Years ago, I mean. Some of the old lionesses told me that their husbands did it to win their hands in marriage."

Simba arched a brow. "Then why haven't I heard of it?"

"Because when your father and uncle were starting to come of age, your grandfather banned it," Nala said. "It's pretty dangerous… the way it works is that you have to spend a morning out in the sun, and get nice and tired, and then-without drinking water-you have to go into the west side of the gorge, and run all the way to the east.

"And in the middle of the day, that crevice is like an oven. It gets monstrously- _unspeakably_ hot in there. And that's why your grandfather banned it," Nala said. "Too many lions were trying it before they were ready, and dying."

"But that's what bravery is all about," Simba said. "You can't be brave without taking any risks, can you?"

"I don't think so either," Nala admitted. "But I guess it's for the best. Your father didn't do it and neither did your uncle-well, at least not until they were fully grown, and not just cubs-so it's okay if you don't do it, I'm sure no one will call you a coward-"

"Me? A coward?" Simba said. "I'm the heir to the throne of the Lion King, so one will will _dare_ to call me a coward. And I won't let them think it, either."

Through the course of the conversation, Simba's chin had dipped into the water. When he realized this, he slapped the moisture from his face and struck the liquid surface with his paw. And then he turned toward the mouth of the gorge and started to march.

"But wait, Simba!" Nala said. "It's banned, remember?"

"Only by my grandfather," he retorted. "And since my father has never told me not to do it, I'm unbanning it now. If my father wants to punish me for it, he can-after I'm finished."

And then he marched on with his head held high. A gaggle of trees might have offered him shade, but he rejected them, electing to walk in the face of the sun, straight to the gorge, straight to his run, straight to Hell.


	4. Chapter 4

The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part One: Chapter Four

* * *

(TLKFan and Kovukono here yet again. Say hello to chapter four...)

* * *

He had to do it. He had no choice. There were some things...some things that just had to be taken care of personally. He climbed up Pride Rock, winded and panting, a gash on his side. Nothing fatal, not even close-but it could have been. It could have been. He had been backed into this corner, and forced to take action, and now the king himself was injured.

And it was all the hyenas' fault.

It was because of them. Because they intruded into hi lands. He had to chase them off, because who knew who else would do it. And Scar, the slippery, double-speaking bastard, didn't seem to even care. The menace had to be stopped. This was his kingdom-and clearly only he could protect it now.

He let out an involuntary groan as he hoisted himself up the last rock, gathering the attention of some of the lionesses there.

"My king?" someone said. And in a moment, all of the lionesses were on their feet. "What happened-are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" he snarled.

"You're bleeding! What-"

"I'm bleeding because no one else was there. Because no one was there to help me against the hyena menace!"

The lionesses fell silent.

"None of you seem to give a damn about this kingdom! I don't see a single one of you lifting a paw to protect it or patrol it! Not one of you seems to realize that we're in danger!"

There was a very, very uncomfortable silence, the lionesses looking at each other. The cowards didn't even want to look at him.

"Your majesty, we thought you were keeping us us safe and-and secure," stammered one.

"And you think that I couldn't use help?"

"Help with _what_ , exactly?"

God, that snide voice. That smug charm, how he hated it. The aloof posture, the superior, demeaning gait… Scar looked the king over, and his eyes widened. "You're bleeding."

"Yes, _brother_ , I'm bleeding!" he snarled.

"Yes, yes, but _why_?" Scar said flatly.

"I was chasing off hyenas!"

And now Scar was _really_ serious. "There were hyenas in the Pridelands?" he asked, his voice hushed. "They did this to you?"

"I had to chase them off alone, brother." He stepped toward Scar, wincing as he felt his side burn. "But that isn't what you would have done, is it? You would have left them this far inside the Pridelands, given them hugs and made peace-"

"Brother-"

"There is a threat, Scar, one that I keep trying to tell you-"

"Brother, I-"

"Brother _what?!_ "

"Brother, I was wrong."

Mufasa blinked.

"If they truly did violate our borders that much, and if they dared to lift a paw against you, then it's acceptable to… to _help_ them leave." He stepped forward. "I'm sorry I wasn't there at your side."

He expected the lakes to boil and the sky to rain blood. Scar, apologizing?

"You're sorry," Mufasa said.

Scar nodded. "I'll go get Rafiki myself," he said, walking off.

"...Thank you, Scar." Words he had never imagined he would say. Least of all now.

He took a deep breath and lowered himself down, ignoring the pain in his side. He honestly couldn't remember the last time that Scar hadn't been on the other side of the argument. Now, he almost seemed tolerable.

Well. A moment of tolerability didn't excuse a lifetime of intolerability. Nevermind his stupid foreign policy ideas.

And then Zazu came fluttering in from the distant horizons, shouting as soon as he was within earshot.

"Sire! Sire! Sire, it's urgent!" Scar paused in mid-step, looking back at the hornbill. "Stampede. In the gorge. Simba's down there!"

For the briefest second, he and Scar stared at one another. Not a word passed between them, though, before they started to run at best speed to the south.

"Secure the borders!" he yelled back at the lionesses. "The paths in the gorge are too narrow for more than my brother and I. And the hyenas that attacked me-they were just a scouting party. It's up to you to keep the others out!"

The moment of distraction put Scar a few strides ahead of his brother, but it wasn't long before the more powerful red-maned lion caught up. His injury slowed him down, though, so the brothers were soon racing neck and neck, side by side, toward the gorge, toward Simba.

Already grass was giving way to bare sand and rock. Already the dust could be seen rising into the air from where the herd had kicked it up. A thousand animals and four times as many hooves, and each one of them could be a death blow for the future king.

And yet, for a moment, he and Scar found themselves looking at one another. This was the first time they had run together-done _anything_ together, in… neither of them could remember how long.

And then the cry of the lion cub brought them both back to where they were.

Scar was the first to dart over the cliff precipice and along the shaking narrow trail into the bowels of the gorge. His brother followed him, panting, bleeding harder than ever.

A thousand animals. More than a thousand animals. A teeming mass of living chaos, all terrified, all swarming, all running as fast as they could. The dust was so thick and the sun was so bright that though both lions tried, they couldn't see, couldn't-

"There, there, on that tree!" Zazu cried.

And through the haze of the bodies, the dust, the thunderous roar of a hundred stomping hooves, they saw him. That precious little defenseless boy clinging to the tree.

"Hold on, Simba!" his father bellowed. But it made little difference, regardless of whether or not Simba could hear him. He was a goner. Dead, unless someone saved him. Unless he saved him. And so Mufasa coiled his muscles and prepared to jump-

"No, Sire! You mustn't!"

That was Zazu, darting in front of his face and crowding him away from the edge.

"I mustn't-I mustn't _save my own son_?" Mufasa thundered.

"No, Sire!" Zazu said. "Please, the life of the monarch is invaluable. You don't risk the king to save the queen, and you certainly don't risk the king to save the prince!"

Mufasa snarled, but through that snarl, he began to cry. He knew that his Majordomo was right. And so he turned to his brother-just in time to watch as Scar darted down to the lower part of the cliffside.

"Go and check the lands south of the gorge," Mufasa heard himself say. "Sarafina and another lioness may be on a patrol near there; if they're still in the area, maybe they can help from the other side."

Zazu nodded, but rather than moving, he opened his big beak to squawk again.

"Now!" Mufasa yelled. "Damn it, NOW!"

And finally, the Majordomo alight from his perch and darted off into peaceful clear blue skies. That trouble finally taken care of, the Lion King turned to watch, just as his brother jumped down into living chaos.

* * *

Rock formation left. Charging wildebeest right. Jump past it, roll to your feet, and take a glancing blow off the one that had sprinted up unseen behind it.

Too many animals to track. All choked with dust, every one of them moving at fifty miles per hour. No time to think, only to act. And Simba's grip on the branch was weakening all the time.

Simba. His laughter when they roughhoused together, his tears when he told his uncle about the barely-justified beatings he received, his curiosity, his love for learning, and, above all else, the fact that his uncle was the light in his life. And that he was the light in his uncle's life.

The next wildebeest that darted toward Scar seemed Hell-bent on a collision path. But instead of dodging, Scar lowered his stance, prepared himself, and then, all at once, engaged every last muscle in his body.

He leaped forward and tackled his enemy to the ground. The force of the onslaught was enough to knock aside several of the others around it, and drop the next one behind it. Soon there was a car made of living flesh that Scar drove with his jaws, and it was getting bigger with each successive impact, each successive body bolted on to the pile.

A quick left-right twist of his head tore out his target's throat and ended its life. And now the path to Simba was-more or less-clear. Better yet, the boy hadn't gawked and frozen up at the awe his uncle had just managed; he stayed aware and useful, just like he had been taught. And when his uncle was close enough, he dropped down from the tree and allowed the dark lion to take him by the scruff of his neck.

And, just when each of the lions thought they were in the clear, Hell itself broke loose. The dam of writhing bodies Scar had created was overwhelmed, all at once, by no fewer than a half dozen of the biggest, strongest wildebeest he had ever seen.

No time to think, only to act. Dash up to the rock wall and scamper high enough to deposit Simba on safety, and then brace yourself before the raging beasts batter you down and carry you away.

* * *

The last shock of wavy black mane disappeared into the herd. Scar was gone-vanished-trampled to pieces beneath a thousand pounding hooves. Simba screamed so loudly that he heard it, even over the chaos, even over the beating of his own heart in his own chest.

And then a motion. A movement. One beast was knocked aside by some unseen force, and then, all at once, Scar fought to his feet and leaped for the rockside. Inch by inch, foot by foot, he began to muscle his way up the sheer textureless surface, to where his brother stood on a stable outcropping, several meters away from the chaos.

Mufasa reached down to Scar. The dark lion reached for him-and fell down, almost into the same Hellhole that he'd just escaped. Only an unseen fracture in the rock formation broke his fall.

The Lion King swore. Then he met eyes with his son.

"Get away from there!" he thundered. "It's too dangerous. Climb to safety, Simba. Now!"

A charging bull bashed up against the rockside. Simba stumbled and nearly careened over the edge, but he caught himself and shrieked an assent to his father. Then he turned into a nearby crevice, a fissure of shattered rock and sand, and started to climb.

It was almost peaceful in that little tunnel. Almost. The earth trembled and shook, but the worst of the roar of the charge was dampened. And there was nothing to see. Nothing but stone and dust and the distant light at the end.

Simba felt himself crying. He swore and rubbed the back of his paw across his visage and then climbed faster. Kings didn't cry. Not even if they were just future kings. And besides, everyone was going to be alright. He was alright, his father was alright, and as soon as Uncle Scar climbed back up and locked paws with the Lion King, he'd be alright, too.

Simba felt himself start to smile. Just a little bit. And that expression held, even as he emerged from the tunnel. He saw Scar's pain as Mufasa's claws sank into him, saw his father's body pull with all the force it had, and for the briefest moment his heart began to beat again as his uncle's head crested the top. And then, suddenly, Scar's hind legs had no purchase, claws scrabbling for a hold that wasn't there.

He saw Mufasa's grip loose and Scar fell against the mountain, sliding lower. Scar pulled himself up, terror in his eyes, and Simba saw his father nearly go over as he reached for his uncle. Scar roared out-and then, as Mufasa pulled again, Scar slipped.

The hind legs broke free, pebbles spraying from the canyon wall.

Mufasa's grip on his brother gave out, Scar's body suspended for one moment before he fell.

His mouth opened, fear in his eyes, "Mufasa!" ripping from him as he fell.

And then-then he was gone. Simba stared where he had landed, nothing but wildebeest trampling over him. He looked over at his father and saw him still halfway over the cliff. Mufasa stared down at that same spot, stunned, unmoving.

Scar was dead.


	5. Chapter 5

The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part One: Chapter Five

* * *

(The last chapter of the first part. Enjoy, and remember to review, vote, and favorite.)

* * *

Sun shone in the sky, but not a bird passed through it. The air was still, the grass barely rustling at all. It was as if the land itself seemed to recognize the tragedy that had befallen the kingdom.

It was in that lifeless afternoon that the king addressed the pride for the first time since the incident, the wound on his side long ago tended to.

"Scar," he said softly, "is dead. My brother is dead. And he gave his life so that my son would live. So that I wouldn't be forced to make the choice of saving Simba at my own expense, or watching him die in front of me. He gave his life for me." Mufasa swallowed, his eyes watering, but he forced himself to remain strong. "He gave his life for the kingdom."

He looked over the others. Few other tears were shed. Scar had been a part of this pride, a vital part-but he had no one. No one close enough to even truly mourn him at his own funeral. Save one-Simba, nuzzling his mother, as tears streamed down his face. He was close to Scar, closer than Mufasa realized, closer than anyone else.

"There were many times when I didn't care for my brother," he admitted. "Times when I felt he went out of his way to contradict me. Even times when I felt he attempted to usurp my rule. But in the end, he was my brother. He was family. And he had the kingdom in his heart, as every good lion does. For all our fights, for all our disagreements, he did mean for a stronger kingdom-a better kingdom."

He turned, wincing as his side pained him, his heavy paws resting on the very edge of Pride Rock as his subjects looked on.

"I doubted his loyalty. His commitment. But in the end, I was proven wrong. In the end, my brother left a legacy that I fear I might never live up to."

He bowed his head low, shaking it. "He should not have been put into that position," he said softly. "No one should have." He turned again, the pain in his side sharp and burning as Zazu fluttered out of his way.

"No one should have to put themselves in the position to damn themselves to save another!" he said. He glanced down at his son. "But I don't blame you, Simba. This...this is not your fault. Not your doing." He looked at the lionesses, his pride, all that he had left. "I don't even blame the wildebeest! No, I place the blame solely on those who planned this!"

He saw them looking at each other in confusion.

"Is it a coincidence that I was ambushed, injured, barely able to escape from attack only a few minutes from the gorge? That my son was attacked by wildebeest who were not even intending to migrate?" he snarled. He began pacing in front of them, every other step a pained limp as his side throbbed angrily. "I was torn into by mangy, flea-bitten dogs who would have taken the entire kingdom from me!"

"I am injured. My son nearly died. My brother _is_ dead! The very animals that my brother tried to protect, that he would have peace with, are the reason he is dead!" he thundered. He stormed to the precipice once more. "Hyenas attacked me! They would have had me try to rescue my son, and have us both taken to the stars under the hooves of a thousand frightened beasts! They are the reason my brother, our Scar, is dead!"

He saw the anger growing on their faces as they saw the threat.

"They have ventured into our kingdom for the last time!" he snarled. "They would tear us down by ripping off our head, and they are no longer a threat that can be ignored! In the name of my brother, I hereby declare unconditional, total, and absolute war on the hyenas! Victory will only be ours when the last one is wiped from the face of the planet. Who stands with me? Who stands with the Lion King?!"

Their mouths opened, some more reluctantly than others. But in seconds, the combined roar of the pride spread across the savanna in a terrifying rumble. This would be the only warning that the hyenas would receive.

* * *

It was peaceful that night in the den. The last peaceful night that they'd have for a long, long while. And the Lion King lay there, wide awake but unmoving.

His son wasn't with him. He turned-and saw the boy sitting alone on the precipice of Pride Rock.

For a moment, Mufasa's eyes narrowed. Then he stood and silently made his way to his son's side. And together they looked at the kingdom that was theirs and the kingdom above it.

"Dad?" he heard after a few moments. He looked down and saw Simba sitting next to him, eyes wide with concern. "Are-are you okay?"

"I am. I just needed some air. And some time with my boy." He ruffled the cub's ears with his paw. "What's on your mind, son?"

"I'm just worried about you," he said, looking at the leaves pressed over the gash on his side. "Does it hurt?"

"A little, but your dad's tough," he said. "It's going to take more than that to take me down."

He felt Simba huddle closer to him, the wind chilling the cub's small body.

"Dad, when you die, you go up there, right?" he asked. "Into the sky? Into the stars?"

"Yes, son. All of the great kings of our past are there, watching over us."

"And Uncle Scar's up there too, right?" he asked.

Mufasa sighed. "Kings shine in life and in the afterlife, Simba. Scar wasn't king. He will never shine."

"But...why not? He saved me. He saved you, too. You said that. You just said it today."

He felt as if he had to choose my words carefully. "There are many beings who do many great deeds. Some big. Some small. Most, Simba, you'll never hear about. But only kings can shine among the stars, for we are who have the greatest duties, who do the greatest deeds of them all. Do you understand?"

"...So you're saying Scar isn't up there," he said quietly, ears flattening against his head. He saw his eyes welling up. Scar had saved his life-and now his uncle would be forgotten.

Mufasa paused, then brought him close in a hug. "Scar might not be visible," he said, "but… perhaps he still looks down on you. On all of us. Watching and protecting. An unshining star to keep us safe."

"Really?" asked Simba.

"Really," Mufasa said. He licked his son's cheek. "Now come on. You go back to bed. I'll be back in a few minutes." He felt Simba nuzzle his leg before he ran back inside.

"An unshining star. That's a new one, Sire."

Mufasa turned and half-smiled at his Majordomo. A quirk of his head had the hornbill alight on his shoulder

"Nonsense, I know. But if it comforts the boy, perhaps it's worth it."

Zazu grinned. And then, slowly, he looked away from his king, into the far distances of the Pride Lands, and what lay beyond them.

"Is something on your mind?" Mufasa said.

"Sire, I… when the lionesses and I arrived at the gorge… you kept Sarafina, and sent me and Sameera to take Simba back to safety. Which we did, Sire, with all haste. But…"

"But?" Mufasa said.

"But…" Zazu swallowed. "But Sire, before you interred your brother into the river, I… I couldn't see very well, I was so far away, but… but it seemed as if… as if he was still breathing."

Mufasa froze. And for a long, long time, he didn't speak. And then a lone tear rolled down his cheek.

"He _was_ still breathing. He… even regained consciousness, just for a moment, but… he was crippled, paralyzed from the neck down, and agonized, so he asked Sarafina and I to make it quick. Begged us, even. And then he passed out. If he still was alive when we got him into the river… then I admit it, we killed him. But it was a mercy killing."

And then the King wept. And then his Majordomo wept. But something about the way Zazu kept looking back at him, as if to gauge his expression…

"Zazu," Mufasa said, "now that I think of it… when the Prince and I came out here, you were reclining, were you not?"

"Well, no, I mean, yes," Zazu said. He paused and swallowed. "I mean, yes, Sire, I was reclining."

"And reclining you remained until the Prince left."

"Yes, Sire," Zazu said, slowly drawing himself into a straighter, more rigid posture.

And then he jumped when the Lion King's jaws snapped at him and hovered in the air some distance away.

"I've let you think too highly of yourself. You, a Majordomo, a servant at best… you've started to forget your customs and courtesies," Mufasa said.

"No, Sire, I mean, I'm sorry, I-"

"Silence."

One word was all it took. Zazu lingered in the air and Mufasa stared at him, for a moment, before he turned back to his kingdom.

"Go and scout out the hyena territory that borders the grasslands. _All_ of the hyena territory that borders the grasslands. I expect you back at Pride Rock within a month, but return within the fortnight at your own peril. Now begone."

Zazu dipped his head and then zoomed off into the distance at best speed, a faint lingering scent and a few perturbed feathers all that remained of him. But Mufasa paid these no attention. His eyes were on the stars, on the cosmos, on the mysteries that they might hide.

"An unshining star," he said. "Pah."

He spat, turned, and returned to the den not to sleep, but to plot. The war was declared, and the very next morning, his legions would strike with the sun.

* * *

(TLKFan speaking. Thanks for sticking with us so far, and look forward to part two. War will soon be upon us, along with more drama, politicking, and strategizing…)


	6. Chapter 6

The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part Two: Chapter One

* * *

(TLKFan here. Welcome to part two.)

* * *

It was dawn, two years to the day after the beginning of the war, when he peered out at his lands from the precipice of Pride Rock. Wind gently ruffled the thick red hair on his neck and head, but other than that, all was still.

It was so peaceful that it almost seemed that not a single conflict had arisen within the borders of the Pride Lands. It almost seemed that no a single moment had passed since Scar had died.

Peace, tranquility-but most of all, silence. He continued to sit, watching the sun rise as wind brushed through the scruff of hair he tried to call his mane. It looked so much like his cubhood.

Maybe Scar had never died.

Maybe there was still a voice of caution.

Maybe today his mother and father would come behind him, smiling and cuddling.

Maybe today could truly be a gift.

Maybe...

A flutter of wings destroyed the daydream, snapping him back to the reality unpleasantly.

"Good morning, Sire. Did you sleep well?" asked Zazu, landing at his feet and bowing deeply.

"I'm not sleeping much these days," he admitted, taking another look out at the horizon. There was an uncomfortable pause and he looked down at the majordomo, the hornbill shifting awkwardly.

"Is that so?" asked Zazu.

He smiled. Half the time he was amused by how easily it was to jar the hornbill off track. The other half he was bitterly reminded about how much small talk was intended to be small talk. The majordomo had been overworked before the war had started, but now… now he was a general in his own right, the commander of the behind-the-scenes forces that supported the warfighters. Had someone cracked his head open, likely every problem in the kingdom would have come pouring out, along with the beginnings of a mental breakdown.

The lion sighed. "How are you, Zazu?" he asked, leaning down so that he was eye to eye with the hornbill.

"Busy," he said. "As are you, my liege. We have quite a bit to discuss. I've planned out the route quite well, and with luck, we may return before sundown."

"With luck." "May." They'd be busy until midnight and he knew it. But he said nothing as he followed Zazu down off Pride Rock.

Every day seemed to stretch on endlessly, with the nights far too short for rest and comfort. The aching from the new, untested muscle from ever-longer daily patrols didn't bother him any longer. It was the weariness that was etching itself inside of its bones, weighing on him.

"There's been quite the influx toward the inner water holes," Zazu said. "There are too many refugees from the borderlands... the crowding has been causing clashes between the species. So far, there haven't been any physical altercations over water, but I received a disturbing report last night." Zazu paused. "It seems that the elephants have moved to the Blue Hill Oasis and are forcing everyone else out."

"What?! Since yesterday?"

"Yes Sire, since yesterday," said Zazu.

He scowled. Zazu was on top of things, and his legions of informers were second to none. If he received late breaking news that he hadn't been able to analyze or deal with himself… then the situation was changing, and changing fast.

It occurred to him that he wasn't his father. If his father had been doing this, the animals wouldn't have dared move. However, things had changed in years past. The kingdom had been pushed into a state where the only one who could handle it was a leader with moral authority. And that leader no longer existed.

"What happened that changed the situation yesterday?"

"Another attack," said Zazu gravely. "A significant incursion into the elephants' lands. Many of them were killed, I'm told, before the hyenas were finally driven off. No retribution has been organized so far-"

"All the lionesses we can spare are outside patrolling the border. We won't have any offensive capabilities until the battle at Black Peak is decided."

"Your father would have organized a retribution somehow, if he was here," said Zazu.

"Well, he's not!" snapped the lion. He saw the hornbill flutter higher in surprise before turning to land at his feet.

"Sire, I know there's a lot on your mind. More than there should be, perhaps. But we can't always choose our battles. We don't have the luxury of walking away from this." He paused. "When your father was your age, he too was in your position. Your grandfather had been attacked, badly injured, and all of the lionesses were in the distant south on a hunt. But your father gathered what forces he could and put the fear of the Spirits into the hyenas. He was a leader, Sire," said Zazu, a wing touching the monarch's foreleg. "You are, too."

"Indeed," the lion scoffed. "Let's get going. I just want the day to be over."

"As you wish, sire."

The hornbill took flight again, staying silent until they reached one of the waterholes. Not _the_ waterhole-thankfully it still remained mostly undisturbed. But not every animal had gathered there. Not every animal could gather there. No, their destination was the Blue Hill Oasis, and it took the duo the better part of the morning just to get there.

The oasis itself was recognizable even from a distance. It seemed that the whole kingdom had surrounded that sad little half-dry lake. Every species was there, predator, prey, mammalian, avian, it didn't matter. All were thirsty and tired in the waxing light of the day, and while they might be nourished from the oasis that day… they couldn't rely on it forever. Someday soon, when the heat of the summer kicked in, it would run dry.

He shook his head. That was a problem to be dealt with later. For now, he put on a stern expression and nodded curtly at the salutes and greetings perfunctorily rendered unto him as he made his way through the crowds. They parted for him until he was right at the very edge of the water itself, staring at the gathered elephants, his disappointment visible on his face.

"So, what's the problem here?" he asked. Just as he expected, a flood of voices burst forth, the sound overwhelming him and his ears flattening against his head. Meaningless noise, the lot of it, so he didn't respond until they finally shut up.

"Alright. Well, here's what's going to happen," he said. "The Blue Hill Oasis has always been open to everyone. The Blue Hill Oasis will _remain_ open to everyone-"

And out poured another burst of noise.

So many voices, so many faces, all protesting, all trumpeting.

"We're here because of the war you started!" "You can't protect us all!" "My children are in danger!" "We're not going anywhere!" "We've earned the right to be here!" "There's only enough water for us, and we've sacrificed and lost more than anyone else!" "Those hyenas are going to kill us all!" "-leaving us to die!" "-no safety-" "-irresponsible-" "-can't even sleep for fear of being murdered!"

His father never would have tolerated this… this madness. This chaos. This anarchy. This insubordination.

"That's enough!" he roared. "I've said what I've said and what I say is _law_! Now, in the name of my father and his father, I order you to return to your home on the borders. That's right," he continued through the array of gasps, "you're going back, and you'll be back by tomorrow, or it will be the lion and not the hyena army that will exterminate you down to the last child!"

"How dare you-" "You can't threaten us-"

"Oh, I can," he snarled, "and I am. I am the leader. I am the law. You will bend to my words, or I swear on the graves of my ancestors, I'll bend you myself."

He stared at the elephants. Every last one of them, until the most stubborn old bull looked down and bent the knee.

Then he turned on his heel and walked off.

The punishment was harsh. He knew it, but there was no choice. Anything less harsh and his leadership would be questioned, and that was the last thing they could afford now.

He didn't have what his father did, he supposed. That perception of integrity, that sheer force of will… he just didn't have it. And he needed that now more than ever. Whatever was in him, he just couldn't push it out. And he certainly wouldn't have any role models now.

"Sire, you can't just send them back-"

"I _did_ just send them back," said the lion. "They made problems with the Pride Lands and they were insubordinate to me, so they're lucky I didn't demand they pay a fine in blood. They're going back to their borderlands and there they will stay, until I say otherwise.

"Now, where are we headed next?" he asked, picking up the pace slightly.

"...Toward the cheetahs," sighed Zazu.

The walk wasn't as long as it had used to be. The borders had shrunk, but not through attrition, though there was plenty of that. Animals were afraid, and more than that they weren't ready to die. Without true leadership, proper leadership, the kingdom was slowly collapsing in on itself.

But worst of all, it led to situations like this.

He stopped with Zazu in front of a group of cheetahs. A mother, her eyes red from crying and her face full of fear and worry. Two cubs, one bawling into his mother's stomach, the other just staring at a limp body on the ground, eyes never leaving the back of the corpse's head.

He recognized him. It was the one who had been put in his place… a lifetime ago, it felt like. But he'd stayed in his place and fought valiantly, and now… and now he was gone.

He knew the signs all too well. Multiple bite wounds, most of them being slightly torn. One firmly on his throat, torn enough that even with trying to hide it, he could still see the inside of his trachea. When hyenas latched onto something, they didn't let go. He'd even heard that after they were killed, sometimes they still had to be yanked off. Once upon a time, he might have thought of that as a tall tale to tell to frighten children. But now he wasn't so sure.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said flat. "He's a… he was a great leader. A noble warrior. A great voice for your people." He looked at the cubs. "He'll be missed."

"Who was he?" asked the mother quietly.

He looked up at her, frozen. "I'm sorry?"

"Who was he?"

"He-he was your ambassador. Your voice to the Lion King."

"What were his hobbies? What meat did he like the most? Who was his family?" she asked, anger slipping into his voice.

"He-he never talked about this with me," the lion stammered. "He was just… just an ambassador to me."

"Do you even know his name?"

The silence was deafening. He saw her looking at him, saw the girl looking up at him. Even the boys' cries seemed softer.

"What are you even doing here?" she whispered.

He looked away from her, eyes dropping down to the cheetah's body. He stared at the lifeless corpse, his mind blank.

"I think you should go," said the mother, her voice shaking.

He didn't look at her. He simply picked himself up and began walking into the endless plains of the Pride Lands, hearing the majordomo flutter after him.

It was minutes later that he finally asked, "How many more do we have today?"

"I'm afraid we're only getting started, Sire." The hornbill paused. "And… his name was Loya."

"Loya." Simba sighed. "Does it matter? He's dead now. Dead." His ears perked up as he heard a cry of pain.

A quick sprint up a nearby hill gave him a vista of the east. On the horizons, where the shadows met the blond grain of the grasses, there was a battle. Either tensions on the border had collapsed into violence, or a hyena assault had been intercepted by the band of leopards patrolling the region.

If the latter was true… then the leopards had been there by pure chance. If their patrol had been a few minutes early or a few minutes late, then the hyenas might have found _him_.

He looked around. Disembarked from the hill and jogged to the south, keeping his body close to the ground. "We're all the way out by the front, alone?"

"There's no choice, Sire," Zazu said, flitting between the grass blades. "All of our offensive positions are on the border these days. If we set them back even by a few miles, the hyenas would entrench themselves too firmly within our lands to be easily ousted. And we need as much land as possible, or else we'll have a famine."

"Right," he muttered. "Then let's just keep going."

The terrain changed, in time, from grass to steppe. This was the far east of the Pride Lands, the inarible terrain that their forefathers had won in battle generations ago. Why they had fought for it in the first place was hard to say, even the meanest vermin had a tough time living there.

Perhaps it was because of the quiet spirituality of the place. All was still there. There were just rocks and shrubs and the occasional little stream that ekked its way out of the rocks. He paused to taste one of these. The water there was still fresh.

There was a legion of troops somewhere here, or at least there ought to have been. The commander was a berserker at heart-a demon on the battlefield to be sure, but tracking him down could be challenging. When he felt threatened he was skittish, and these lands had been the site of brutal fighting for some weeks since.

In the distance, a kaleidescope of buzzards circled a particularly tall crag of rock, leering over the meat of a recent batte. He stepped on something, then. Something that had once been the body of a hyena, but was now just tatters and bones on the ground. Maybe the legion wouldn't be so hard to find after all.

He picked his way through several more twists of the earth, another few hundred yards of jagged rock and hills. He stepped over and on several more bodies, and then he came upon them.

They varied in species, gender, age. But they were all injured in some way or the other-slashed, bitten, bruised or worse from when they had been tackled off of heights.

He kept his eyes on the ground as he walked past. He could be out here. He should be out here. Fighting to make sure that his family was safe. He was still young. He was capable. But now there was no one else. No one else to rule the kingdom, to keep the pride together, to make some semblance of order.

And the one standing lookout was why. "Dad?"

Simba saw his father turn. The lion was tired, his eyes bloodshot almost to the point of entire redness-but that was the only sign of it that he saw. His body showed more vitality than Simba remembered before the war, his mind alert and ready.

It wasn't any of these that registered to Simba, however. It was the blood. It was caked onto the lion's paws, all the way up his legs, all the way up his chest and mane, the dark red so copious that he wasn't sure where the blood ended and the true colors of the king began. A single kill might have caused some errant spurts, but it looked almost as he had bathed in it. Simba froze, staring, as Mufasa smiled brightly.

"Son. How are things?"

"Gods, what happened?!" What had he done-was this why the animals had moved? What had happened-

"Hmm? Oh, this," he said, looking down. "We've been very busy, I haven't had a chance to clean myself up."

"Yeah, but-"

"It's nothing to concern yourself about, son. What's important is that we're holding the borders-and we're one step closer to making sure we're never disturbed again. Now tell me, how is the kingdom?"

"I-uh-well, it's-it's not good, Dad. If you could maybe come back, just for a couple days-"

"SIRE!" The sound came from outside the border. A moment later a cheetah bounded into sight. "Sire, they're back-they're back, and they brought more!"

Simba's first thought was panic. There were so many injured. And if this was all that was left after the assault, what possible chance could they have? He looked to his father. "Dad-" And he saw his father smile happily.

"You've got work to do, son. And so do I." He stood up, Simba seeing him wince slightly from the wildebeest wound he'd gotten so long ago, and roared before charging off. The cheetah sprinted after him, struggling to keep up, and then a handful of others pushed after them, most limping. Simba stared at the vanishing forms, rooted to the spot.

"Sire?" He felt something tapping him. "Sire, you heard the king," said Zazu.

"Yeah. Yeah, right," said Simba. "Yeah. Let's go."


	7. Chapter 7

The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part Two: Chapter Two

* * *

Dawn of the fifth day of the second season of the year. The only day of the year when the royal family slept in. The rest of the year they rose with the sun, but this day, they slept in.

After all, it was the beginning of the Sunwheel Festival, the most important holiday out of the entire year. It had been celebrated since time immemorial, when their ancestors had first come to the Pride Lands. Since before that, if the legends were to be believed.

But now there was no one to ask about the legends. The only one who might have known was Roderik, an ancient but lively lion with fair eyes and pale fur. He was the one who had maintained the stories, who had passed them on to the younger generation. His heir was supposed to have been Scar, and so it was Scar he had been telling the details to, the legends about legends, the theories that were wasted on others.

And then, of course, Scar had died. So it was Simba who had taken his uncle's place, Simba who had spent endless hours spellbound at the old lion's feet, memorizing tales and songs and folk memories passed down from the ancients.

But a midnight attack had demanded the deployment of a quick response force. Roderik had been assigned as the lead, and he had been deployed with his team. And thus it was his head that the hyenas had taken that night. His head, and all of the memories of the lion race within it.

Simba sighed. It was a tremendous loss. In fact, now that he thought of it, the deployment of quick response forces always resulted in terrible losses of some sort; the lions were never good defensive fighters, when battles weren't on their terms they often faltered. That night they'd lost Roderik, but a few weeks later they'd lost Tanga, a younger fellow who'd only lost his pacifism the day his father had died. Not long after that, Sami had been killed en route to a relieve a detachment deployed to the far north. He'd been one of Scar's best friends…

The pride was still strong, though. Of that there was no doubt. Strong and packed with nationalists and hardliners so extreme that once upon a time, Mufasa's views were less radical than theirs.

Dawn of the fifth day of the second season of the year. The beginning of the Sunwheel Festival. Simba should have been sleeping in, but instead he was wide awake and worried, again on the precipice of Pride Rock. Zazu wouldn't bother him for some hours yet, which meant that, for the first time in he didn't know how long, he had some time to himself.

And he needed that time. In years past, Mufasa had taken it upon himself to deliver a speech during the Sunwheel Festival, a sort of State of the Pride. Naturally, Zazu had prepared and planned it out to the word. But now, with his father out fighting on the front, the responsibility for delivering the speech had fallen to Simba.

And the State of the Pride was not strong. The pride was strong and those still living were strong, and yet they weren't strong. They were terrified and traumatized and war-weary after two years of unending stalemate combat. Every victory they ecked out was an empty victory paid for by the blood of their own or their allies, and often responded to with an offensive that saw them scrambling to stay on top of things. And the Pride Lands themselves… what was once lush and green and golden like the rays of the sun, was now gray and dusty and parched.

Overcrowding had thinned the herds. Famine was an on-again, off-again occurence. Drought was a daily reality. And as the war raged on, things would likely get worse.

And for what? At this point… for what?

The affront to the Pride Lands had been avenged. Scar's death had been paid for a thousand times over and the hyenas had suffered even more than the Pride Landers and their allies. The only thing that kept them fighting was fanaticism that matched the fanaticism of the lions-take away the common foe, and they'd plunge into endless anarchy again.

It occurred to Simba that since the lions' advances very early on in the war… the battle lines had remained relatively stagnant. The choiciest parts of the hyenas' lands had been conquered, and if the war were to end now… why, the Pride Lands would be larger and greater than they ever had been. What was that, if not a victory?

"Ah. Simba. Even today, my son rises with the Sun."

Simba turned-and there he was, silhouetted by the rising sun. The Lion King himself.

He knelt immediately and was ordered at ease almost as quickly.

"Father?" Simba said. "What are you doing here-I thought you were on the front-the offensive! The massacre at Sand Creek! What happened?"

Mufasa just smiled. "The massacre at Sand Creek never happened. It was a lie-the hyenas spread it initially, to try to foment desertion and surrender in our ranks, but then we started to spread it. Many hide from the fog of war, Simba, but I hide _in_ it." He paused. "When the pride sees me alive and well, their hearts will swell. And when we attack again, the hyenas will shiver to see the Lion King still alive. Their fighting spirit will be broken. This time, for good."

"An offensive?" Simba gaped. "But Father-Dad-we don't have the troops. Not right now. I've recalled as many lions back to Pride Rock as possible, but our greatest warriors-Sameera, Nikita, Faisal-they're all far away. And I wouldn't ask anyone else to contribute forces to an offensive. Not now, after the incursion two weeks ago."

"Mm." That was the Lion King's only response. "They suffered losses from that half-baked attack due to their own lack of vigilance. _We_ didn't… a credit to our acting leader," he said, nodding at his son. Then he sighed.

"It's been a long time since I've been home," he said. "Tell me, Simba, how is everyone? Your mother, the lionesses… Sameera will be halfway to Thunder Alley by now, we won't see her for weeks… but Nikita and Faisal-where are they?

"Together," Simba said. "They're guarding the northern border in case the hyenas try to cut through the Rocklands and flank us. They have one cheetah with them, and that's all. I figured that two of them could delay an offensive long enough for the cheetah to fetch reinforcements."

"Good. Very good, son. You have done well," Mufasa said. He favored the boy with a pat on the head. "And for that you will be rewarded. Last year, it was Faisal who had the position of honor at the Sunwheel Festival, and that was for saving you from the assassination corps that one night, do you remember? Well, this time, _you_ will have the position of honor."

"Me?" Simba gasped. The position of honor at Sunwheel Festival, for him-still a boy, by most standards? This was unheard of!

Simba knelt again. "Father, I don't know what to say."

But Mufasa just laughed and mussed with his son's headfur. "You will," he said. "When the time comes, you will."

Simba stood. Licked his paw and used it to fix his headfur. The cut he'd opted for practical, military, simple. Nothing on the sides, neatly trimmed on the top. Mufasa, on the other hand, was regal, stately, an unabashed salute to his father and his father's father.

Maybe someday Simba would feel himself worthy of that style. But for now, he'd stick to a high and tight.

He averted his eyes from his father. Now was the time when most fathers would ask their sons how they were doing. Maybe they'd chit-chat about sports or something, if all such activities hadn't been called off on account of the war. But not Mufasa. He'd never chatted with his son. Not once in their all-too-brief history together.

One by one the lions began to filter out of their den in Pride Rock. One by one they gaped at the sight of their King, back from the front, and one by one they knelt before him. But Mufasa didn't allow them to rise until his Queen emerged from her home.

She wore age and war well. A single jagged scar, so pale and thin that it was nearly invisible, was the only sign that she was a warrior. Her fur was taut and tight and sleek and her musculature showed in the athletic, almost stealthy way she made her way to her husband.

Sarabi dipped her head. Then she knelt, her eyes still on her husband.

"My liege," she said. "Welcome home."

The corner of his mouth upturned. Then he placed a paw on his wife's shoulder and lifted her to her feet. This done, he planted a brief chaste kiss on her snout.

"It's good to be home," he said. "Alright. All of you, rise. And let's begin the Sunwheel Festival."

It was then that his entourage appeared, marching up to Pride Rock itself. Everyone was spit and polish and a military veteran, as well they ought to have been; Pride Rock was generally off limits to everyone but lions. But the King's entourage was there, and bearing gifts. Luxuries that ought to have been impossible to obtain in wartime.

Fresh hippo steaks. Flamingo eggs. Aged wildebeest loin. All prime cuts of meat, all in such quantities that their bearers staggered under the weight. The lions leaped into the feast, ravenous from the lean months and exertions behind them-all except for the King and his son.

"Father… so much food," he said. "And the other races are suffering from famine now. Shouldn't we invite them?"

"Of course not," Mufasa said. "We are lions and this is the Sunwheel Festival, war and famine be damned. Besides, I understand that some waterholes were being overcrowded? Well, no more." He shrugged. "The scraps were left in the journey here. The lesser races can feed from those, as is their place. And, at times like this, it's important to remind everyone of their place. The lesser races are below us, and the lions… we're the ones who will, and should, enjoy every luxury this land has to offer. We are lions."

He glanced at his son. "Now come. Eat. And don't skimp, either. You will have the position of honor at the ceremony this evening, and it won't do if you look as scrawny as you are."

Simba muttered an affirmative. He then joined his brethren and with them, gorged himself on treats he didn't taste.

* * *

The festival continued throughout the day and into the evening and then into the night. Sports were played. Drinks and stories were shared. Every last lion in the pride personally greeted Mufasa and heaped praise on him for his bravery and his roles in pivotal battles that had been. Simba was at his side throughout, and with each comment, and each additional libation, Mufasa's chest and pride seemed to swell more and more.

As the sun set, Mufasa's cheek was as red as his mane. But the festival showed no signs of stopping. Indeed, now was when the other races-the lesser races, according to Mufasa-were allowed to enter the rocky outcropping beneath Pride Rock. There, they'd mingle with their betters and nibble on their scraps. As was their place, Simba told himself.

A heavy foreleg wrapped itself around his shoulders and pulled him close. Simba recoiled from the smell of fermentation but plastered a smile on his face as Mufasa laughed at something the limber fair-furred lioness in front of him said.

"Beautiful _and_ smart. My grandchildren will be gods," Mufasa said. "She's out of your league, Simba. If it wasn't for me, a woman like this would never talk to you."

Well, there was a grain of truth to that statement. So Simba smiled and faced his intended. "I know. And I'm grateful for every minute that I do spend talking to her. You set me up with the right girl, Father. Thank you."

That brought color to Nala's cheeks. Which brought color to Simba's cheeks. Which-impossibly-made his father snarl and shove him away.

"Go check the perimeter. We don't have enough security and it's dark tonight. I'm going to spend some time with my daughter. My future daughter," Mufasa said. Now it was Nala who stumbled under the weight of his heavy foreleg and recoiled from the scent of fermentation. "Now go."

As was custom, Simba bowed. Then he scampered off before his father could fault him for not moving quickly enough, though the quick motion very nearly made him vomit.

Gah. He had gorged himself after all.

But his father was right about one thing, it was dark that night. A new moon, in fact. And they didn't have enough security at all. There were sentries, sure, but they had been drinking and half of them were reclining or passed out. It was the rare cat among them who was sober, and these were spaced far, far apart. Too far to have overlapping fields of coverage of the darkened fields of grass before them.

And so Simba crept to the top of a low rolling hill at the westernmost point of the rock formation. Just twenty yards behind him, and ten yards down, the Festival continued… but here, in the cold, with only the invisible moon peering down at him, he was alone.

A zephyr ruffled the the grasses, highlighting a few lumps of stationary earth here and there. Funny, Simba thought. He'd just patrolled there yesterday, and he recalled that the landscape was flat. Totally, perfectly flat.

Another gust of wind kicked up. And those same lumps of earth… somehow, they were just a few meters closer to him.

When Simba realized that, what it meant, he turned and started to shout. But he didn't get out more than a word before a hyena nearly as big as he was sprinted toward him and tackled him-

* * *

"You are beautiful, you know," Mufasa said. "And smart, and wiser than your years. You have your mother's body," he said, nodding at Nala's famously lithe but shapely figure, the clear heir to Sarafina's, "and you have your father's ruthlessness. When the time comes, Nala, you'll be a Queen to be loved. And feared."

"My father's ruthlessness?" Nala repeated. She tilted her head. "But Sire, my father was… a dreamer, according to what Mother said. A boy who couldn't accept the world for what it was and wanted the impossible to be possible."

"He was," Mufasa acknowledged.

"Sire, you-you knew my father?" Nala asked.

"I did. Briefly," Mufasa said. "And your mother was right, he was a dreamer. But he taught me that no dream is impossible, not if you have _will_. And Nala," he said, looking the young lioness dead in the eye, "I have will. Everything I desire in this life, I'll make it happen, I swear on my ancestors."

The way he looked at her made Nala stare. It wasn't sexual, he wasn't propositioning her… but there was something there. Something serious, something deep, something that was like love and yet wasn't.

Was it the adoration and dedication a monarch showed to all of his subjects? Was it something else?

A shriek from the ring of rock above the scene of the Festival made Nala turn-and then jump. A half second later, Simba struck the rock floor on his back, his attacker on top of him.

A hyena. A massive, grizzled, dark-furred hyena. It tore a chunk of flesh out of Simba's shoulder-and then it saw a much choicier target just there, just next to him.

Mufasa.

"Protect the King! Protect the King!" Nala shrieked before she dived forward and grabbed the attacker before he could touch the Lion King. She then engaged him in battle, dodging a few bites and then rolling with a long low tackle to bring the beast down where she could more easily tear out its throat.

Lions were swarming around Mufasa, ushering him back to the protected recesses of the cove, while more hyenas- _dozens_ more-began to dash down the sheer rock wall, into the Sunwheel Festival, like so many uninvited guests.


	8. Chapter 8

The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part Two: Chapter Three

* * *

(TLKFan here with another new chapter. Read, enjoy, favorite, and review.)

* * *

Tan was all he could see. The color of sand and rock, all silent, all still, a massive earthen structure that hadn't moved for a thousand thousand years and wouldn't move for a thousand thousand more. Its might and its majesty were underestimated at the peril of its purveyor, and those who wished to pass it had to know what they were doing.

The alternative was death. Baking, blazing, lingering death. Sun collected in the gorge and focused, and then the rock itself radiated heat, turning the whole thing into a massive oven. Temperatures upwards of a hundred and twenty degrees there were commonplace, and no bodies of water ever had, or ever could run there; they'd be incinerated into humidity in seconds if they tried.

And when the herds passed through the gorge, its danger was magnified. Multiplied.

He remembered that day. That awful day. He was too small to fight back, too exhausted to run, too dehydrated to even remember why he'd entered that terrible dangerous place in the first place. One minute he was puttering along, damning himself for a fool for not having a drink before entering, and the next minute… the next minute was chaos. Living chaos.

A thousand hooves. And then a thousand more hooves. A sea of living death, sworn to tear him off of his perch and trample him to pieces. And he was all by himself, helpless, dangling from the branch of a tree too weak to support his weight for more than a moment.

And then his uncle came to save him. His beloved uncle, who had no more than a handful of friends and no children of his own.

And saved him he had. The price, though, was a terrible thing to pay. And Simba had relieved paying it again and again, at least once a month, every month of his life, since that terrible day.

It was a dream. He knew it was a dream. Scar couldn't die again, because he was already dead. Dead, and, increasingly, forgotten. The friends he'd had, the shy but sincere figures who had listened to him when he'd spoken about normalizing relations with the hyenas, those who seemed curious about a more egalitarian form of government… they'd all died, since the beginning of the war. Died, or changed into the same sort of quasi-fascist legions who roared in favor of whatever Mufasa said. Just like everyone else.

Simba sighed. Wiped a drop of wetness from his eye. Fidgeted-and winced.

Still he could barely move. Still. Now it was a week since the attack, and still, he was as good as crippled.

It was some consolation that Rafiki had told him that he wouldn't be crippled permanently. At least, most likely, he wouldn't be crippled permanently. He could feel his lower legs, and move them too, it just hurt. A lot. Thus he was confined to quarters until he could move without pain again. From there, it was at least a few days of therapy and observation before he had a clean bill of health and could get back into the action.

And he had to get back into the action. The incursion had been repelled, and the hyenas had paid for it dearly, but… things in the Pride Lands had gone from bad to worse.

He knew. God how he knew. In secret he'd received reports from Zazu, Rafiki's orders be damned, at least until the sly old fellow had caught on and banned Zazu from Pride Rock, saying that the Prince needed to rest or he'd never recover. But the damage was already done, Simba knew.

The famines had gotten worse. So had the drought. Overcrowding wasn't as bad as it had been, since many had died off and the Pride Landers had gained ground in the war, but the political situation within the Pride Lands was deteriorating.

It hadn't gotten as bad as sedition, thank God for that. But there were whispers… rumors of small bands of animals who weren't happy about the war and no longer cared very much about who won or who lost. The banner of patriotism and national pride was failing, when hungry mouths cried and dead brothers were laid to rest. And unless something changed, and soon, it wasn't going to get better.

Simba shut his eyes again. Then he snarled and headbutted the wall. Let the pain and rage sink in.

He felt useless. He had rarely participated as an active combatant in battles; that was his father's place, apparently. His was running… everything else. Everything.

Well, that was one problem that was taken care of. The one who had taken over his job was, by all accounts, as competent as he was. And-

A feather-soft touch on the side of his cheek. He opened his eyes and found himself looking at her straight in the eyes. Such lovely bright blue eyes, he could practically see the intelligence and love within them.

He smiled.

"Did you sneak past the guards again, Nala? You shouldn't do that, you know."

"Why's that?" she murmured, touching her nose to his and leaving it there. "I'm just giving my Prince's security protocols a real-world test. Don't worry, my liege, once I'm finished here, I'll be doubling up your personal guard."

"Stop that, Nala," Simba said. He touched her on the shoulder. It was intended to be a friendly bat, but he hadn't the energy for it. "Calling me "my liege", I mean. I don't like it in public, and here… here, let's just be ourselves, alright?"

She blushed. She always did. Only when he spoke to her, though, never at any other time. He'd seen her brief his father directly without a word out of place, but when he spoke to her, she blushed. She always had.

And then she lowered herself so that she was resting on top of him. He could feel the lean muscularity of her form, but despite how strong she was-despite how strong he knew she was-she was light. Soft. Feminine.

"How are the elephants?" Simba asked. "I know they're suffering, but I've heard that they've redoubled efforts against the hyenas."

Nala nodded. "One of their matriarchs was torn apart by a hyena scouting party. She was always one of our greatest supporters, and by dying, she became a martyr."

Simba nodded. "And the cheetahs?"

"Your father was wise to recognize their efforts repelling the Sunwheel Massacre," Nala said. "They performed a ritual a few nights ago… only members of their race were allowed to attend, but I have close friends among them. They told me that they've sworn themselves to defend our race to the death, and beyond. They've marked themselves," she said. "They've etched our names into their chests. If we die, they've said that they'll consider their failure to protect us as an unforgiveable sin. They'll commit suicide in order to beg our forgiveness in the afterlife."

Simba stared. Nala nodded, and shut her eyes.

"I told them that I was honored to have earned their dedication. But ritualized suicide is… it's just wrong, Simba. We're fighting for life, not for death."

"Are we?"

She lifted herself up enough to look at him and tilt her head. But he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," Simba said. "It's just… I've got a lot on my mind. And I've been thinking, recently…"

His voice trailed off.

"Thinking what, Simba?" Nala said.

But still the Prince didn't respond. So she nudged his face so that he was looking at her and held his gaze until he finally spoke.

"I don't know," he said. "When the war began… it seems like so long ago, now. It _is_ so long ago," he said. "Do you realize that half of the cubs in our pride, half of them weren't even alive at the beginning of the war? And you and me-we were just kids, back then, but now… now we're not, anymore."

He wrapped his forelegs around her and held her close.

"It's just weird, isn't it? Back then-do you even remember being young? And do you think that the cubs who are born today… if we don't end the war soon, do you think they'll ever get a chance to be young?" he said. "I just want peace. I just want to roam around my country without worrying about being attacked, or assassinated, or about my father dying or our subjects being massacred. I want to hunt, and run, and play."

He sighed.

"I miss my uncle," he said. "Especially these days. He taught me so much, but he had so much more to teach me, and with him and his friends gone… I don't know if there's anyone left who has anything to say that I want to listen to. And we've avenged him," he said. "We've avenged Scar a few times over by now. So… isn't it time to… look to finish the war?"

"How?" she asked. "Everything we've tried has failed. We've tried to bait them into incursions, and though we massacre them by the dozen, they can breed faster than we can. We've tried to cut off the supply of the herds, but whenever we do that, the forces we send out perish on the journey, or we have to recall them to fight off another invasion. We've tried offensives, but their lands are too hard for us to fight on. What haven't we tried, Simba?"

"A ceasefire," the Prince said. "Negotiation. And then…" His voice failed. He looked away.

But she placed a velvet paw on his face and turned him back toward her.

"And then… what, Simba?" she said.

"Surrender," Simba said. "If we say that word, we won't have to cede them an acre of land, or a single watering hole. The hyenas are too proud to look past their pride-"

"And what about our pride, Simba? We're lions," she said. "When we come together, we _are_ a pride. If you, as the sitting Prince, use the word surrender, how will your people react?"

"Perhaps as you have," Simba said. "You're focusing on the practical, Nala. You realize that there's nothing to be gained by continuing the conflict. If I sell it the idea to the pride, and I do it properly… maybe we'll have a shot at peace. I'll swallow a little humiliation for that."

Nala shook her head.

"But before you sell it to the pride, you'll have to sell it to your father. And Simba, if you can sell the idea of surrender to him… well, maybe we do have a shot at peace. But you can't speak to him now," Nala said. "Not while you're still injured. If you do, he'll think that you're speaking from a position of weakness. Wait until you're better. Wait until you can speak from a position of strength."

Simba smiled. "My father was right about one thing," he said. "Beautiful _and_ smart. His grandchildren will be gods."

One of his paws had drifted from her shoulder to her side. Now it rested on her shapely hip, and there it stayed as she looked down at it, then back at her Prince, her intended.

The couple kissed once. Only once. There was nothing wrong with what they were doing. It was just kissing. Just kissing.

* * *

The far north of the Pride Lands shared a border with the Rocklands. Once upon a time lions had lived there, great brawny lions who had good relations with their southern brothers. But they had died, ages ago. Wiped out by hunters even greater than the lions.

Out of respect for their departed brethren, the Pride Landers had never taken the Rocklands as their home. Nor could they, if they wished to. These were foreign lands, different from the jungles and savannahs of the Pride Lands. Here, grass grew like moss from boulders that were often bigger than those that formed Pride Rock. There were no trees, no cover, only meager little oases that attracted even more meager prey.

And there were spires of earth and rock that pierced forth from the ground like so many towers. None had collapsed-ever-though many were more massive at their peaks than they were at these bases.

Roderik had told Simba that once upon a time, young lions proved their bravery by climbing to the tops of these and living there for days. Not just the Rocklands lions, but the Pride Landers. Survive that trecherous climb, live there for a week, exposed to the cold and the rain and the lightning, somehow climb down, and when you got home, you had the woman of your choice.

You had to be in perfect physical condition just to make the climb. You had to be strong-strong enough to heft yourself upward with your forelegs alone-and you had to have the endurance to repeat the process dozens of times, until you made your way to the crest of the spire, a hundred meters off the ground. And then you had to have the courage to withstand the hunger and the pain of isolation, and you had to have the purity to not be struck down by the thunderbolt of the Gods.

What Zazu would have said if he knew that the crown Prince was attempting the feat. The crown Prince, _and_ the sitting monarch.

Of course Mufasa had risen to the challenge, Simba thought, as he hauled himself up and over the final ledge and stood atop the wet grassy ground. A single question of the lion's pride could only be answered with action. It had almost been too easy to get him where he was, dangling a hundred feet off the ground, supported by his forelegs only.

He reached up to a craggy outcropping. It broke off in his paw and he scrambled desperately against the rock surface. Then he turned his face up to his boy.

"Simba," he said. "Son… help me."

Fear. Fear on the Lion King's face. And if it was realized, if he plunged to his death on the rocks below, then…

Then the new Lion King could end the war tomorrow. Today, if he got back to Pride Rock in time.

Simba twitched. Then he clung to a thick unyielding boulder and offered a paw down to his father. In a moment, the two were together on top of the spire, overlooking the terrain together.

A hundred kilometers to the north, rainclouds stormed over a land they'd never known, never even thought of. A hundred to the south, the Pride Lands bordered jungle regions that fed and watered herds before they migrated into the land of the lions. And all around them, more spires of earth, monuments to the Gods, stood strong.

"Gods, _this_ is country," Mufasa said. "I've half a mind to leave it all behind. The politics, the war, the kingship, everything."

"I've half a mind to join you," Simba said.

"Eh? What do you say to that?" Mufasa asked. "You and I, living off the land, eating when we want, fighting when we want, alone, together, till the end of time."

Simba managed a smile. He met eyes with his father for a moment-then each looked away. It was the most they'd ever said to each other at once.

Lightning rumbled in the distance. The storm was coming toward them, and if they didn't want to test their purity, they'd have to climb down soon. But before then…

"Father," Simba said, "I've been thinking… about the war."

"Oh?" Mufasa said. "Well, out with it, boy. What's been on your mind?"

"We've been fighting for years now," he said. "And always in the same way. They attack, we attack, lands change hands for a few days, and then they change back. Yes, we've done well since the Sunwheel Invasion, but if we really want to do what's best for our homeland and our people… we need to do something different. Something radical, that no one has ever thought of before."

"Fully agreed," Mufasa said. He patted Simba on the back once, it might have been twice but he let his paw fall afterwards.

"I recommend an assassination of the hyena leader," Mufasa said. "We'll need an elite team, a tiny team that can infiltrate their homeland and survive alone until the time is right to strike. You and me, we'll be the backbone of that team," Mufasa said. "We'll bring along Faisal and Sameera, and use Zazu as our eyes in the sky-"

"But we don't even know who the leader of the hyenas is. We don't even know _if_ there's a leader," Simba said. "There could be a council, or a, I don't know, maybe the bands are still independent and launch invasions without coordination. We just don't know."

"Yes, and that would explain why we always repel them. Tell no one this, Simba, but if the hyenas worked together, and acted as a fist rather than five separate fingers, they'd wipe us off the face of the planet."

Mufasa fell silent after that. Perhaps it was the first time he'd said as much out loud. Perhaps it was the first time he'd let himself think it.

"And that's why we have to do something different. Something radical," Simba said. "Something that no one else has ever dared to talk about."

Mufasa glanced at his son. Then faced him fully.

"What are you saying?" he said.

Calm down. Think. Chose your words carefully or they might be your last.

"I'm saying that we should look to a different strategy. A whole different mindset toward the hyenas, a complete change in our foreign and military policy-"

"So many words, so little being said," Mufasa growled. "Simba, _what are you saying_?"

Simba sucked in a breath. Let it out slowly.

"Father… let's talk to the hyenas. We've avenged Uncle Scar, and any other offenses they've committed over the years. Let's just sit down at the negotiating table, with no preconditions, and-"

"And what?" Mufasa snarled. "Surrender? Agree to pay them reparations, and live as slaves in our own lands? Let _them_ take Pride Rock for their own?"

He was panting. Hyperventilating. Simba knew better than to interrupt him or even break eye contact with him. Let him finish, let it get him all out. The Lion King wouldn't accept the idea of surrendering now. But maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for something.

"Let's at least ask for a ceasefire," Simba said. "At least so that we can bury our dead."

Mufasa laughed. Once. Loudly.

And then there was blinding, searing white light. Flickers of color danced before the Prince's vision and he tasted blood, his ears ringing unpleasantly.

"Coward," he spat. "You are no son of mine. Effective immediately, I exile you… until such time that you have a clear head. And allies. Until you have both, return to the Pride Lands at your own peril. And don't think that anyone will hesitate to kill you if you come back, Simba," he said. "If they don't, if they dare to bring you before me, I'll skin them alive, and then I'll do the same to you. Do you understand?"

Blood leaked into his eye. His left eye. He wiped some of it away and stood up straight.

"I understand," he panted. "Godspeed, Mufasa. I don't know who can help you now."

"Go," Mufasa said, as Simba began to crawl alone down the spire that they'd climbed together.

"Go," Mufasa said, as Simba began to run into the north, into the distant unknown lands that no lion had ever entered before.

"Go," Mufasa said, as Simba left his sight, left the known world, never, ever to return.


	9. Chapter 9

The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part Two: Chapter Four

* * *

"There are disturbing reports from the front, my liege. The hyenas have been holding back for some time, just picking at our defenses, never incursing very far, yet never allowing our incursions to go very far either. I suspect an impending assault. A major one."

"You're being paranoid, Faisal," Mufasa said dully. "The hyenas don't have an ounce of military strategy or cooperation, let alone unity. They couldn't plan a move like that if their fate depended on it."

"Forgive me, sire," the blonde lion said, bowing his head, "but their military strategy has defeated ours more than once. The Sunwheel Invasion was just months ago, and before that, they flanked and nearly routed my forces and I at the edge of the Great Black Lake. At the very least, my liege, I recommend-"

"No one gives a damn what you recommend, Fais," Mufasa said. "Now begone. I have better things to do than to listen to your crackpot conspiracy theories."

The fair haired lion faced his king for a moment. He was slight of build, to appearances, but he could run for a day and a night without stopping and he fought with a venomous sort of finesse that made him the stuff of nightmares for the enemies of the Pride Lands. He had never been a political man-he didn't have the mind to be anything but blunt, honest, forthright-but at the same time, he'd always been close to Scar. Perhaps a little too close.

Then he snapped his heels together and stood at attention.

"My king," he said. Then he about faced and left the den.

"Faisal is right, my love," Sarabi said. "The hyenas are smarter than you give them credit for-"

"Woman," Mufasa scoffed, " _I_ decide who's right and who's wrong."

"Nevertheless, we should be prepared," Sarabi said. "I admit, Faisal is probably wrong. But supposing he's right. Supposing the hyenas are planning to something."

"Then we fight them," Mufasa said, glaring at his wife. "We fight them the same as we've always fought them."

Sameera was the next to enter. She was Faisal's mate, a green eyed svelte woman who always had a sultry look for her husband. A sultry look that was wasted on him. They'd been together for years now, and still they were childless.

Hmm. Those blue eyes, that shapely body. If he'd been single… perhaps she wouldn't have been childless for long.

Mufasa smiled. Then he wrapped a foreleg around his wife, a woman more beautiful still than Sameera, and planted a kiss on the side of her snout.

"Well, Sameera?" the Lion King boomed. "How goes the war in the south?"

"It's a stalemate, my king," the lioness said. "We can fend off attacks, however, we don't have the manpower to launch meaningful attacks. Not in this season, when hunting is so poor-"

"Hunting? Why are you wasting your time with hunting?" Mufasa cut in. "Aren't you receiving provisions from Nikita and her hunting party?"

"You pulled Nikita and her party off of hunting two weeks ago, my love," Sarabi said. She licked her husband's paw, leaving it tingling with lingering affection. "You sent them into hyena country to reconnoiter their leadership, don't you remember?"

"Yes, yes, of course, of course," Mufasa said. "Zazu, what have you heard of Nikita? And why has she delayed in briefing her findings to me?"

"We haven't heard anything about Nikita, my liege," the majordomo said softly. "She and her party are presumed dead."

Mufasa twitched. Nikita and Sameera were cousins, practically sisters. And for the first time that he could remember, Sameera had stopped smiling.

"May she rest in peace," Mufasa said gruffly. "In the name of my father and his father before him, I swear she'll be avenged a hundredfold. In the meantime, Sameera, take three strong lionesses to assist you with your duties-"

"But who, my love?" Sarabi said. "All of our forward positions are critically manned, and our hunting parties are undermanned. We don't have a spare body in our pride, except-"

"Except for _you_ , my love," Mufasa said. "Your skills as a huntress are legendary. As are your skills as a teacher. The leopards had children last night," he said. "Take two of them. Forge them into living weapons, tools of the pride."

"But Mufasa, who will assist you with running the war?" Sarabi said.

"That'll be Sarafina," Mufasa said easily. "Pull her from Faisal's group and bring her back here."

Sarabi paused. Smiled. Dipped her head.

"Of course, my love," she said. "Your wish is my command."

And then she and Sameera left. The Lion King and his majordomo were alone again.

"Stand at ease," Mufasa said to the hornbill. He waited until Sarabi and Sameera were each well beyond the limits of earshot before groaning, long and low in his throat.

"Gods, to think I became King for this. I thought I'd be knocking heads from dawn until dusk. Instead I deal with this nonsense-this useless-this plotting idiocy. What's it all in aid of, anyway? Why can't I just order the troops to fight until they win?"

Zazu elected against answering. And in time, the Lion King sighed.

"It's been a few days since I last asked," he said. "What's the status of the lions? How is my pride?"

"War weary, I'm afraid," Zazu sighed. "We've been too long without a great victory. People are starting to become… demoralized. Depressed, even. Some of them are even hoping for a different way."

"What different way could there be? I am King," Mufasa said.

"Of course, my liege," Zazu said. "And everyone knows what happened to Simba. But still…"

"What?" Mufasa said.

Zazu sighed. "I've been hearing things," he said. "Just rumors, nothing substantiative. But several of my spies have told me that there's a clique of elephants… they used to be an esoteric cult of radicals, but I can confirm that they're slowly opening up, slowly building support."

"Support for what?" Mufasa said.

"I don't know, my liege. If I suspected them of treason, I'd have dealt with it long ago, or brought it to you to deal with. But as of now… I have no idea what they're planning. If anything.

"And that's the problem," Zazu said. "Worse yet, this group isn't unique in the Pride Lands. Everyone's under so much pressure, the scene is set for people to look for solutions in radical political groups. Things that were unthinkable just months ago are now thinkable. It's concerning, to say the least, my king. Even if nothing has come of it yet."

"I will _not_ tolerate any challenges to my crown or my power," Mufasa growled. "You will go to these elephants, and all of these other brainless radicals, and you will place them under arrest. I'll be standing by at my leisure to decide what to do with them."

"Sire?" Zazu croaked. "Me, perform an arrest, of _elephants_? In elephant territory? Alone?"

"You won't be alone," Mufasa said. "In fact, you won't even be the arresting official. You'll be the voice of the King, but the one who performs the arrest will be Nala. She still resists combat tours, preferring to hunt and administrate logistics over fighting… well, it's time for her to learn the joy of conflict and risk," he said.

"Yes, my liege," Zazu said. "But suppose the suspects resist? She could be killed. And she's still your son's intended."

"I have no son," Mufasa said easily. "But you're right, we can't send Nala alone. Give her some muscle. Shuja and Nafisi, for example, where are they?"

"Nafisi died at the Great Black Lake, sire," Zazu said. "Shuja is still recovering-"

"Fine, fine, fine!" Mufasa snarled. "Then pull Sarafina and some of the cheetahs, and don't bother me for the rest of the day. I'm going to go and kill something. That'll clear my head."

"Yes, sire!" Zazu said. He snapped to attention and there he remained, as the Lion King left his den.

* * *

It had been some months since Nala had last visited the elephants. Back then, she'd been doing a deep dive in their culture. She'd spent weeks with them, learning their culture and their history, learning the names of every last one of their ancestors. There wasn't one among them who she didn't know on a personal level. She counted among her friends even the most radical of radicals, and that was made her tremble as she made her way toward them.

She feared the radicals. They were all young males without a hope for the future among their people as they existed. They had seen war and they had tasted war, and the one she suspected was their leader as as charismatic as Mufasa himself.

Vlad, his name was. Leader. It suited him. He might have been slight of figure for an elephant, but he was still an elephant. One sweep of his tusks, one stomp of his feet, and she was dead.

Sarafina wasn't at her side. She was behind her and some distance offset, along with the cheetahs that they'd pulled. They supported her, but they weren't in charge. She was.

She approached the elephants. They knelt when she got closer, all except for Vlad and his followers. It wasn't until she was finally right in front of him that he bowed his head without taking his eyes off of the lioness.

"Nala," he said. "Welcome back to our lands. How fares your war?"

Our lands, your war. Every word was a weapon. So. That was how it was going to be.

"They're our lands, and it's your war too," Nala said. "You know the law in the Pride Lands. An attack on any of us is an attack on all of us, and lions are lords of the dominion."

"Yes," Vlad said sourly. "I know your laws all too well. Regardless, what brings you here? You're the intended wife of the crown-I'm sorry, the _exiled_ prince," he said. "Surely you've better things to do than to bother with us."

"I wish I did," Nala said. She paused. was there any way to soften this blow? To try to execute the arrest in private, instead of here, in public? No. No there wasn't.

"Vlad," she said, "Boris, Sergei, and Alexey… you're all under arrest. Surrender and accompany me back to Pride Rock immediately."

"Us, under arrest?" Vlad said, with mock surprise. "For what?"

"You're suspected of treason and sedition," Zazu said, from overhead. "The Lion King himself ordered your arrest."

Nala paused. That was enough of the stick. Now it was time to give him an easy out with the carrot.

"Now look, Vlad," she said, adopting a less aggressive posture. "I'm sure it's all just a big misunderstanding. Just come to Pride Rock, kneel before the King, and pledge your loyalty to him. If you do that, I'm sure that he'll overlook whatever did, or didn't happen-"

"Oh, but he won't, Nala. You know that," Vlad said. "The King hasn't been a very forgiving man, ever since he exiled his son for-what was his excuse again? That Simba practiced _cowardice_?" He shook his head. "I fought with that boy on the front, and I know that he was no coward. Not a jingoist, amped up on testosterone and his own megalomania perhaps, but not a coward either."

"Watch yourself, Vlad," Nala warned. "You condemn yourself with your own words."

"I already am condemned," Vlad said. "The King suspects me of treason and sedition. Well, there's no need for a trial. I confess. I set myself against the fool Mufasa and the bloody war he needlessly fights. My people have suffered for-for what? Scar's death has been avenged, but still the war rages on. My people are dying, and no one can even tell me why."

He shook his head.

"Nala, you and I are friends, and I'll never forget that. But I will not crawl back to Pride Rock to grovel aty our so-called King's feet. Nor will my friends. If he wants to charge and try us, he can come and do it himself. Then we'll dance, and let might decide who's right. Until then, I'm going to carry on with my treason and my sedition. Good day to you."

He turned his back on her and began to walk away. Him and the rest of his allies. As if they could walk away now, after what they'd said.

Nala glanced at her mother. Not a word passed between them. Not a word needed to.

Sprint. Jump. Climb up his back and go for his neck-

But a trunk caught her and threw her off, dashing her against a nearby tree. Though stunned, Nala scrambled to her feet and dodged a foot that would have smashed her into dust. Another trunk swung at her but she clawed it, and then climbed it, and then took its owner's eyes. Another step and she had her teeth on his spinal column. And then all it took was a wrench of her jaws to bring the beast down forever.

Sarafina was busy with Vlad. Alexey, though, was fighting a winning battle against the two cheetahs, facing off against them and coming all too close to goring them to death on more than one occasion.

There was a tree next to him. Nala used this to get onto his back and then all it took was a stroke of her claws to open up his jugular.

Still he lived. But he'd bleed out in moments. Nala left him and faced Vlad, just as he took her mother into a stranglehold, lifting her off the ground and slowly choking th elife out of her.

"Take one more step," he panted, "and I'll break her neck. I won't kill her," he said. "I'll paralyze her from the neck down. She'll linger on in agony for months until you finally give in to her constant begging, and finish her yourself. Take one more step, and I swear I'll do it," he said.

The cheetahs were holding fast. Backing off. But Nala, locking eyes with Vlad, took a step forward.

"And then what?" she said. "You're already dead, Vlad. We kill you here and now, or we take you alive and kill you slowly. Either way, you're a martyr, but your followers are all gone," Nala said. "And I swear to you, the crackdowns the Lion King does next will ensure that any elephants who survive will forever be loyal to Pride Rock."

He laughed. Blinked at the blood trickling over his eye. Sarafina tried to claw at the vice around her neck, but she hadn't the energy to do it real damage.

"Then what do I have to lose? Why shouldn't I just do what damage I can to the cause of the lions while I still can?"

"Because damage to our cause is damage to your cause," Nala said. "You want your people to survive, and thrive? Well, the only way for that to happen is if they win the war. And if you want us to have a shot at that happening, you let one of our greatest lieutenants live."

He paused. His grip on Sarafina slackened for a second-then it strengthened again, as tight as ever.

"And what about me?" he said. "If I surrender now… will you promise me a fair trial, and a quick execution?"

Nala shook her head.

"You've openly rebelled and threatened my mother in front of me. When the Lion King has you, I won't lift a finger to stop him from doing whatever he wants."

Vlad's lips peeled back into a snarl. But impossible, slowly, he let Sarafina down to the ground. Released her from his hold so that she could gasp and choke and stumble back to her daughter's side.

"Well played, Nala. Except, we planned for this. We planned for everything," Vlad said. "And we swore to ourselves that if the worst happened… we wouldn't be taken alive."

He gave her a toothy smile. A toothy smile with one too many teeth. He dislodged it with his tongue and swallowed-

And then he collapsed to the ground, dead with the rest of his co-conspirators.

Nala's paws were bloody. And so she tracked bloody footprints all the way back to Pride Rock, all the way back to her little corner of the den, where she collapsed and lay and cried.

* * *

There had been a throne for the Lion King, in older times. It lay in the great hall in Pride Rock, and was a monument to the power and majesty of the monarch.

Ahadi had removed it. As his first official act as King, in fact. He found it idolatrous, he said, and an impediment to the vision he had for his kingdom.

As for the throne itself… it had vanished. Some said that it had been destroyed. Others said that it had simply been carried off to some distant corner of the Pride Lands and left there, a useless relic of a different time. That was the theory Mufasa favored, and that was why he'd been gone for the past two days.

He had been searching for it. And when he found it, he would carry it alone to Pride Rock and restore it to its former glory.

At least, that was the plan. But now the Lion King marched up Pride Rock unencumbered. His search was fruitless, though he'd pursued it for an extra day.

It wasn't yet dawn, but twilight made the sky purple. This silhouetted the figure crouched at the edge of Pride Rock.

The King approached her from behind in silence. When he recognized who she was, his frustration at the failed search vanished.

"Nala," he murmured. "You're up early."

"My King," she said, turning and standing at attention for the approaching monarch. "Yes, Sire. I just… couldn't sleep."

"I know the feeling," Mufasa said. "You got one taste of action and now you can't wait for more. God, how I know the feeling."

For some reason, Nala didn't respond. She just shivered and looked back out over the darkened lands.

"Sire," she said, "I know we're at war, but I've been so busy, and we've had a few victories recently… the Battle at Blue Hill, the defeat of the seditious elephants, and the crackdowns…" She shivered. Why? It wasn't that cold.

"Anyway, Sire, I was wondering if I could… maybe take a few days off. For personal reasons."

"Mm," Mufasa said. "You know we're critically manned, Nala. And you're one of the rising stars in the Pride. Having you out of commission for a few days, that will pose a challenge in operations…

"But not an insurmountable one," he said. "What kind of a King would I be, to take a few days off, but deny the same thing to the future of the pride?"

He smiled at Nala. Then he reached over, set a paw on her head, and caressed her for just a moment. Just a moment.

"Enjoy your time off, Nala," he said. "And come back ready to fight harder than ever before. What are you planning to do?" he said.

"Just some running, my King," Nala said. "Some hunting, here and there. And maybe a little search of my own."

"Sounds like quite an adventure. I look forward to hearing about it when you come back," Mufasa said.

"You will, Sire. You will," Nala said.

He arched a brow at her at that, but Nala had already taken her leave of him. Now, she was halfway down Pride Rock, and darting toward the north. Toward the Rocklands.

That gave Mufasa pause for thought. Just what would she be searching for there?


	10. Chapter 10

The Lion King: The Unshining Star

Part Two: Chapter Five

* * *

Nala stopped after a half day of straight running. By then, the winds and the rains would have scattered her scent, so the risk of her being tracked was manageable. Manageable. But she held no delusions. She was alone in unfamiliar land-lifeless land. If the Pride sent enough strength after her, she'd be found within a few days.

It was too easy to track in this land, this rocky, lifeless land. True, trees protruded out from the great rock spires that themselves protruded from the landscape, and there did seem to be grass and other plantlife on the very tops of those. But that was all. On the ground there was nothing. Just rocks, glassy black and glimmering like fangs in the night, and little pools of hazy dark water.

She gorged herself on one of these. Coughed at the bitter dusky taste and then drank down some more as sweat trickled off the side of her face.

Alright. She had been on her feet for hours now, without any sight of Simba, or any signs of him. No spoor, no tracks, no nothing. No animals to hunt or interrogate, no game trails or waterways that the Prince might have followed to… what, exactly? Where would Simba go, and what would he do, after he was exiled?

Maybe he had left the Rocklands. No, he _must_ have left the Rocklands. This was a dismal country without the ecology to support a growing lion. Simba had either passed through the Rocklands to better country, or returned to the Pride Lands in secret… or he was dead. Maybe his bones were awaiting her, somewhere out there.

No. Simba was tough, Simba was a survivor. And he had only been exiled a few weeks ago. If his fate was death, he'd yet be a step ahead of it.

* * *

On her second day in the Rocklands, Nala chanced a climb up one of the rock spires. There might be food up there, she reasoned, and even if there wasn't, she'd have a vista of the surrounding land. That might give her a clue as to where Simba might have gone.

It was a good idea. Too bad that she'd missed a step twenty feet up and fallen, nearly to her death. Even now she walked with her left hind leg curled uncomfortably close to her body.

Water wasn't a major problem in this country. But food, that was a problem. Nala had survived longer without food in the Pride Lands, but that was only ever because she was out scouting or reconnoitering, and she knew that a good meal was never more than a few hours away if she needed it. Here… she had no idea where she might find food. In fact, the nearest meal might be back in the Pride Lands.

She took a step forward. Slipped on a water-coated rock and banged heavily on the ground. And there she lay for a moment, panting, staring at the surrounding landscapes.

Lions had once called this land home. Great lions, lions almost as proud as those who ruled the Pride Lands. But they had vanished, it was said, after being hunted down to extinction by demons. Demons with weapons that spat fire and could kill from incredible distances.

But maybe that was just a story. Maybe the true demon was the land itself.

Nala pulled herself to her feet. And then she walked on, praying that the stories weren't just stories, but truth.

* * *

She encountered a great rapid river on her third day in the Rocklands. It was wide and cold and crystal clear, and flowed from the south to the north, where crags and spires of rock carried on for as far as the eye could see. She drank from this and then stood, wavering despite herself.

This river… she peered to the south, to its distant origins. It was hard to be sure, but it seemed to come from roughly where the gorge was. Where, that fateful day, Scar had given his life saving Simba. Of course, Simba would never have gone there in the first place, if she hadn't-

She shut her eyes. Bit her tongue. She and Simba had talked about it afterwards, and more than once. It wasn't her fault. _It wasn't her fault_. Her mother had mentioned it and she had mentioned it to Simba and the decision to do it had been his and his alone. It wasn't her fault.

As for the river… where did it lead to? The Rocklands had to end somewhere, didn't they? And the far north-what lay there? Was there a jungle? Another savannah? Any sort of more recognizable terrain, where she might be able to find sustenance?

Nala looked to the south again. There was certainty there, and safety. To the north there was only uncertainty. She could search for a decade and never find a trace of Simba...

She shut her eyes for just a moment. Then she stepped forward and released herself to the raging waters, regardless of the distant glimmering eyes that spied on her.

* * *

"Is she dead? I think she's dead."

"Maybe. But we can't be too safe. Let's cut her throat and be sure-"

"Shut up, Gabriel-"

"I'm your big brother, Rafael, don't tell me to shut up-"

"Shut up. I think she's breathing."

Nala blinked some of the pain out of her eyes. Coughed and then rolled to her side, water draining out of her mouth and nose. She began to stand-stumbled-and remained bent over, panting, gasping for air. The three pale silhouettes that had surrounded her looked on, neither moving to help nor harm.

"What… happened? Where am I?" she asked.

One of the figures glanced at the other.

"The end of the world," an accented but understandable voice said. "The Forest of Hyperborea… just north of the Rocklands."

Her vision slowly returned. With it came her balance, so she began to sit up, groaning at her surroundings. Dark trees, damp dark soil and brilliant encompassing mosses… and air so cold that she shivered despite herself. As for her hosts… they were three in total, three fair furred-lions?

Nala looked from one of them to the other; they were each lithe and tall with sharp arrogant faces that had seen everything. "Wait a minute-are you Rocklanders?" Nala asked. "I thought you were wiped out years ago!"

"Not all of us," the shortest one among them said with a smile that lit his violet eyes. "They tried very, very hard… but we're still here. For now, anyway. And you are?"

"Nala," she said after a moment of hesitation. "From the Pride Lands."

"A Pride Lander?" the tallest one said. "We haven't seen your lot in generations. How is your country?"

"At war," Nala said. "And that's why I came here."

That was a mistake. The tall lion turned his face to the side in question while the other two broke off and began to circle her. All at once Nala became aware of just how alone she was. Just how weak she was.

"Your motherland is at war, and you've fled?" the tall lion said. "Not very brave, are you?"

"You're mistaken… Gabriel, right?" Nala said. "I'm not fleeing. I'm looking… I'm looking for help," she said.

A pause. It was time to roll the dice. The odds were long and the stakes were high, but it was time to roll the dice.

"The Pride Lands are losing the war," Nala said. "The only one who can help us is one of my friends was exiled. He was exiled some time ago, and I believe he may have come to your land. Have you seen him?" she said. "His name is… Simba."

Gabriel's eyes darted to each of his brothers'. Then he shook his head, and the two other lions reconveened with him at his flanks.

"No. We have no knowledge of any Pride Landers in our country," Gabriel said. "I'm sorry for the caution, by the way. We're at war too, at this very moment… but we remember our manners, and welcome a sister from our southern brethren."

A moment later, the shorter brother tugged a massive broad leaf out from behind a nearby tree. On it were meats. None were fresh, in fact none were familiar, but they were fatty choice cuts. It was all Nala could do to avoid gorging herself.

One of the lions hadn't yet spoken. He was between his brothers in terms of build and height and there was a bizarre sort of curiosity on his face. Almost a… longing. Nala felt herself shiver and met eyes with the senior again.

"Thank you for the meal, Gabriel. Now I have to apologize to you," she said. "My friend Simba, who was exiled to your country… he wasn't just my friend. He was the Crown Prince."

"What?" Gabriel said. "But-the monarchy-what happened?"

"There was a coup," Nala said. "The king we had was a good, wise man… but the monster that took over…" she shook her head. "He's the reason we're at war in the first place. It was something our tribe is willing to tolerate, apparently, but when the Prince was exiled… things took a step for the worse. And now, I don't see any way to restore our pride to the right hands except for through violence. I have to assassinate the usurper."

All the right words. A powerful, beloved monarch, overthrown by a dictator and fool. A damsel in distress, a typical fallen from grace story with the opportunity for enterprising brave men to find glory.

"The monarchy must continue, there's no doubt about that," Gabriel said. "But with the Crown Prince gone, presumed dead-who would rule in his stead? At least until he's found."

He was fishing for something. And Nala knew what it was.

"The Rocklanders and the Pride Landers used to intermarry in the days of yore," Nala said. "I know that my great-great-grandmother was from your country, for example. And you, my friends-I can tell just by looking at you, your ancestors weren't peasants."

"No. They weren't," Gabriel confirmed. "Our father was the last King of the Rocklands. I'd call myself King now, if it wasn't for the scum plaguing my country with war and anarchy… but that's another matter. The Pride Lands are the motherland of the Lions, and before we worry about the fate of the Rocklands, we must secure the fate of the Pride Lands. In the name of my ancestors, I will help you, Nala, to overthrow the usurper and retake the Pride Lands for those who have the blood-right to rule it-"

"Just a moment," said the silent lion, stepping around in front of his brother and looking Nala dead in the eye.

"Suppose we do come to the Pride Lands and kill your enemy for you, abandoning our own country to its fate. What's in it for us?"

"Forgive my brother's bluntness," Gabriel said, shoving the younger lion aside and glaring him down, or at least trying to. "He's very young and thoughtless and-"

"No, no, it's a valid question," Nala said. "It's a valid question."

And now their eyes were on her. And now she was struggling, her mind racing, because when she got right down to it, there really was no reason why men she'd never before met in her life ought to give a damn about her country.

"The pride grieves for its lost king, and yearns for a new one," she said. She shut her eyes for a split second. "The women especially. If you were to restore the Pride to its rightful state and end the war, you'd have their utmost devotion, their utmost love." A pause. She felt their eyes probing her, searching her famously lithe but svelte figure. "And mine, too."

The words that followed were pointless. The looks that passed between the lions and the lioness said enough.

* * *

Gabriel has left the group some time back to do scouting, he said. Reconnaissance. There were dark and fearsome creatures that prowled Hyperborea, and they rarely traveled alone. Advanced warning of their movements was the only way the group could avoid a fatal encounter.

What about sleep, Nala had asked. When are you going to sleep?

Gabriel smiled in a manner not entirely dissimilar from the way Simba had once smiled. I don't sleep, he said. Never.

And then he vanished into the dark mist-shrouded forests, leaving his future consort in the care of his brothers.

"It doesn't run in the family, if you're wondering," Rafael said. The one with the violet eyes. "I need eight hours a night, and as for Mateo… well, if he could have his way, he'd spend more of his life asleep than awake."

He and Nala both laughed at that. Mateo managed a brief smile and that was all, before the three of them lay down for the night, on that blurred boundary between Hyperborea and the Rocklands proper.

It was quiet in that strange land at night. The trees and little tufts of bush muffled out most sounds, but the rocks that jutted up from the ground as if at random, they occasionally reflected the sounds of the prowling insects.

At least, Nala hoped they were insects. Those unearthly clickiing pops, the less frequent throaty deep growls… no, they were definitely insects. They had to be.

Time passed, but Nala didn't sleep. She couldn't, not in the too quiet, too dark forests. Not when the insects were roaming around endlessly, seeking passage to her body, _into_ her body. _Inside of her body_.

"Gabriel's late getting back," Mateo said, all at once. He rolled over to face Nala and Rafael just in time for the latter to jump up.

"Do you think he's in trouble? Should we go search for him?"

"Why bother?" Rafael snarled, glaring at his brother. "He's better than any of us at keeping himself safe in these lands. At the very least, if he was in trouble, he'd have time to shout. Have you heard any shouting this night, brother?"

"No," Mateo said, "but you can't be too careful-"

"Oh, shut up, Mateo," Rafael snarled. "Gabriel's safe, and he'll be with us again soon enough. The only thing out here that might delay him is-"

"Patrol 18."

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere all at once. All around the group were eyes, dozens or hundreds of them, glimmering in the dark at indeterminable distances.

Now, Nala too was on her feet. Limping a bit maybe, but not helpless.

"Missing your brother, are you?" one of them said. "Here. Have him back."

A dark shape flew through the air. Hit the ground and bounce twice before rolling before Mateo's feet. It was Gabriel, or what remained of him. His eyes weren't even closed.

"Alright, I think we all need to calm down," Nala said. She moved between Rafael and the surrounding figures. "Patrol 18… who are you? And why did you attack Gabriel?"

" _We_ attacked _Gabriel_?" a deep voice said. "You're not from these parts, are you?"

"No, I'm not," Nala said. She looked around. Mateo was sobbing silently, Rafael was snarling. And they were all hopelessly, helplessly outnumbered. It was time to roll the dice again.

"I'm Nala, from the Pride Lands," she said. "I've come to your country looking for help. And if you join me, I'm sure the Pride Landers will forget this little mistake-"

"The Pride Landers do not forgive and they do not forget," the voice said. "Not as long as the tyrant is in power. And even if he has an _accident_ somehow, his son… by now, he must be his father's son. There's no hope for your homeland."

"There _is_ hope!" Nala said. "Mufasa exiled Simba, and no one's sure why, but if we take him out-if we kill him before anyone can stop us, I'm sure they'll accept a new leader, at least until we can find Simba-"

"Wait a minute," Mateo said. "Mufasa… he's the reigning monarch of the Pride Lands. No dictator usurped the throne from the royal family, because the royal family is still in power."

"I-how did-no, that's not true, how did you know-"

"Mufasa's name was chosen a hundred generations before his birth," Rafael said. "You're a liar, Nala. And you tried to lie us into murdering the true monarch of the Pride Lands. Our own kin."

"It's not that simple-" Nala began. And then she was silenced by searing pain that lanced across her face.

"Silence, whore," Rafael said. "You tried to trick us into murdering our family, and you _did_ trick us into having our own family murdered. Now that Gabriel's dead, I am the heir to the Rockland Empire. I thereby sentence you to die at once."

Still groaning on the forest floor from what had been done to her, Nala didn't have time to lift a paw in her defense. And so it was Scar who defended her, leaping out of the darkness in a long low tackle that knocked Rafael off his feet. A little quick clawwork disarmed him and then it was a bite to the throat to finish him off.

He turned to Mateo next, stronger, slimmer, more agile, despite his age. But Mateo shook his head.

"I'm alone and outnumbered and I have nothing left worth fighting for. I surrender unconditionally," he said. "Congratulations, Scar. You're the new Emperor of the Rocklands."

"Oh, goody," Scar said coolly. "In that case, I decree that cowardice be punishable by death, and I order you to carry out the first sentence. Immediately, please. Or I will, and believe me when I say that it won't be immediate."

Mateo locked eyes with the dark lion for a moment. Then he slit his own throat and slumped forward, reclining in a pool of his own blood. Yet he never did break eye contact with the Emperor of the Rocklands.

Scar's shoulders relaxed for a moment, no more. He flinched-seemed to twitch-and then looked back at the eyes looking at him.

"My friends," he said, "our mission is accomplished. The monarchy has been killed and Hyperborea has been liberated-"

"Not so, I fear," someone responded, someone with a venomous soft whisper of a voice. "Don't try to lie to us, Scar. We all know who's the sitting Emperor of the Rocklands."

A smile flickered across Scar's lips.

"So, there'll be no mercy? Not even for old friends?"

A rustle made its way through the crowd, through the forest. Nala struggled to her feet-stumbled-and stood.

"Very well," the voice said. "Leave at once and never again set foot north of the Rocklands."

Scar nodded once, curtly. Then he turned on his heel and began to stride southward, Nala a halfstep behind him at his side.

She found herself looking at him. Staring at him, truly. He was older than when she'd last seen him, no doubt about that-but stronger, leaner, with a sort of militaristic certainty to the way he moved.

Wait a moment-was he Scar? Was he really?

"Well then, Nala, how's the war going?" he asked. "And don't make me guess. I _despise_ guessing games."

Despite herself, despite what had been done to her, Nala managed a smile. He was Scar, alright. And he was coming home.

* * *

(TLKFan here. Sorry for the long delay, but this one will be finished in good time. And if you thought Part Two was interesting, just you wait until Part Three… Remember to review, favorite, and follow as necessary. See you next chapter!)


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